limbs move slowly, knowing there’s no other way to move. heavy airs dampen ability to respond, and there is not enough blue when i look outside to calm these aches.
there is not enough blue when i look outside to let the tiredness overtake me, belly where it belongs — pressing against the floor or bed. i want the promise of being taken care of by surrendering to whatever is happening inside me, but —.
now when i see someone with a red nose i feel sad. so, so sad.
it is so hard to rest here. my eyes, they’re dry and sore from all the salt kept secret inside. i don’t know how to get on with things like i’m not waddling through air made of thick jelly.
i blame this arbitrary slowness on my body’s irrational preparation for a winter — cold to wrap me in four layers of clothing before venturing out the door, chill to remind me where all my bones are, grey skies to parallel with the greys inside, the need to cup and touch all the warm things around me, darker nights for easy sleep. i’ve never missed winter as much as i do now.
there is no winter here. this place will never work that way.
before this i could have sworn i was getting used to these hours and monotony, but then i started to think i’m waking up in the wrong bedroom again.
after recalculating the years and events to wear off the shock from waking up today, i thought, how long more will i be jet lagged from the past?
i will always be jet lagged from the past.
and from all the loss and losing that brought me back here.