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I’m using up all of my energy treading mind’s water,
afraid to sink below the surface even for a moment.
It’s not that I can’t hold my breath;
it’s that shutting my eyes and allowing the waves to take me under
will heighten my eternal senses,
I’m avoiding being silent, avoiding it quite deliberately,
swimming from activity to caffeinated activity,
creating more reasons to stay here, afloat.
I’m afraid to know what’s down there
but more afraid that
despite my long-held belief that the darkness is also home to a sunken treasure,
there won’t be anything else at all there with me
and I’ll know that I am truly alone.
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sometimes i really want to dip my toes back into the stream of the past
my fun apartment late nights on the streets of capital of nations
and other places in my head
all the moments stretched out as far as they could
before gooping back like chewing gum
its actually a lot easier now
because im trying to remember a feeling
rather than building one anew
where i have to crawl through it and feel around the walls to figure out, where am i
this is like being back somewhere familiar
i know where all the keys on my keyboards are
but i have to start from what feels right to know
what the next letter will be
its nights like these that
make me want to fall in love again
on a walk with a stranger
on a rain-soaked street in suburban university city drinking SoBe from sobeys
i’ve been here before
and thats exactly why i need to leave
this intoxication with intoxication itself is cringeworthy
even though it’s been,
so much fun
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i will write on one side of the page only
and it can be someone else’s problem
to figure out where the paper will come from
The view outside is so clear now that we’ve cleaned the windows.
The silence this spare room offers at late hours despite the near-constant sound of tires gripping road, engines conbusting outside, is like the sanctuary of my consciousness despite the constant traffic in my mind.
I feel like who we really are cannot be suppressed, even if the environment and circumstances change. Here I am, years later, sitting at the windowsill, writing in this journal and looking out, and in.
I think I’ll always find my windowsill no matter where I go.
May there be many more quiet nights like these.