Friday, January 3, 2014


It writes me love letters
and hangs heavy
like the air on a muggy afternoon in the heart of summer.
It's thickness makes it hard to breathe.
The sky briefly clouds reality from my devoted eyes.

It makes my skin feel sparse
I begin to sweat out the things I cannot say...

you are still beautiful
you still haunt my hours
you dilute my interpretation of happiness

It scares me

Hot flashes now.

I fade in and out of a vintage dream.
The memoir I wrote
digs itself out of the grave I so carefully buried it in.

I allow myself to dream nostalgia
I smile a fleeting, self-indulgent smile
and scream
before I plunge into the sacred pool of clarity

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