Imagine waking up one morning to hear the TARDIS materialising in your apartment. The Doctor steps out and tells you to come with him, and you suspect that it is Loki, because Loki knows how much you love Doctor Who and have always wished it was real. You keep saying that you know he is really playing the Doctor, but the Doctor denies it. Eventually you find out that Loki is actually disguising himself as the TARDIS and he wants to watch you interact with the Doctor and watch your eyes light up with excitement when you think no one is watching.
Puddles quiver out of anxiety– my country stretches its fingers over its neighbor’s waist and catches the tremor.
I am turning into less and less, day by day:
I live with a cat, it is in me, it is black. It refuses to leave or stop clawing my body from the inside. (I hate it.)
[It is no longer clear what weight this fear lends to my desperation:
Less than a month’s gap between this boy and that: I am already in another’s lap unlearning how to kiss the first. reminder: time is irrelevant and non-existent. reminder: all mistakes are forgivable as long as they hurt none other than yourself.]
The doctors hand me white flags disguised as help.
I surrender, into new arms, into new alarms. The chandelier clinks. Newspapers line my dinner table. I admit: I am afraid. Nothing subsists.