Mutely I start to function not yet dawn, giving myself an icy shower...some removed part of me aware I have forgotten soemthing, registering the sting of ice against the skin, reminding me some part of me yet lives. I dress, crawling out of this corner of my world, walk down the hallway, down each flight of stairs and throw my weight against the security door. I do not feel anything. I am not concerned. I do not care that I am still awake and feel I have ever been. As I walk out a milky fog hugs the ground and swirls around my feet and I wish it would rise up and swallow me whole.
The slime of words does not weigh me down, nor does my heart lie to me and hide the truth I did not wish to know about you or about your world. Going out into the unseasonal cold of this morning, alone, is soemthing I shall never forget. Everything is embedded in me, on me though me. I walk with the sun silently waking and the birds noisily waking. I look as I walk. It seems I can never look enough, as in those final hours I could not sate my need to touch you...to allow the palms of my hands to absorb every inch of you..taking in from each cell a knowing that is all I now possess. The sun lies; rising like a glory of giving on us all where I know it is an illusion.
You will keep your perspectiveand your place; you always have, your strong grip on yourself....your soul is your own, moulded strongly and stonily, while I have lost myself and I become elsewhere. Altered. I feel like I found and brought you a ladybird, and instead of cradling it wondering in your palm, you merely crushed it.
I stand hesitant uncomfortable waiting a few moments for the daily bus. I am now back fully in a world of endless petty annoyances empty and dust-tongued. So I do not speak. I do not smile. I have slowly been invaded by loneliness isolation fear and nausea. I was stronger a little while ago; unreleased the slave though the chain dangles. Me shaking inside me, my soul pale, my face, my preoccupation a mask a gag upon me, mounting sourness, myself a prisoner within me.
I am caught in the most delicate and most secret of torments, love amde plain, the feeling of a woman for just one man. I sit here and you do not even see me or feel me. It is a not knowing more heart-breaking than knowing, and so you acknowledge me better than openly greeting. You have only to say to me "Come...." and I would go tot he ends of the earth....
