journal 8.14

I don’t know what I want to say here, only that I hurried to get my laptop because the feelings were starting to feel like friction. This year has dragged me over the carpets, and sometimes it is fine, and sometimes I am a bumble of lightning. I’m afraid to shock someone, afraid to sting them even just a little. . . . I’ve been … Continue reading journal 8.14

journal 8.7

Last night I scraped the back of a foot against city pavement. I didn’t fall exactly, I just … drifted. Gracelessly. It didn’t stop the night. When I woke up today, muddled by morning, my scraped skin sang to me from a tower of bandage and pillow. Operatic wails, reminding me that the song of healing requires an admission fee of patience. I am always … Continue reading journal 8.7