The hallway light is furious. With violent flickers it morses its complaint to the oblivious people passing underneath.
The city’s odor is ever-changing. Walking uphill I smell the burning candles on the birthday cakes of my childhood. A mixture of ashes, wax and frosting; there isn’t anything like it.
Tiny twisted towers of white and color, winding their way to the top only to get burned by the flame.
I teach myself variants of a language that was never mine to begin with.
Unsynchronized turning signals at in sync stop lights send my heart aflutter. Steady footing is rare to come by these days.
I constantly clean my windows and mirrors. Not because I want a better view, just because the glass cleaner smells like suntan lotion, a scent of better times.
I am undefined, indefinite. The jury’s still out on what my name should be.
The strings I wove around strangers’ hands to be carried out into the world are slowly wearing thinner now, my network disintegrating into distant thoughts and memories.
Soon I will be a fleeting thought on a summer’s day, of the bench we used to sit on, of the song we used to listen to, of the woods we shared our only kiss in.
A pool of sweat presents its potential to me. Twice already. Will the third time be the charm?
Don’t let me think now. Don’t let me separate truth from dreams.
Wake me gently, serve me tea and lie to me.
“There are things that drift away, like our endless, numbered days.”