A mistake I made

It occurs to me, dark at midnight, naked and scrubbing the bathtub by candlelight.

It occurs to me, hunched over the rug, leaning deep into this melted laptop.

It occurs to me, as the minutes tick by and I know that no matter how late I stay up, I won’t sleep a bit past seven thirty.

It occurs to me, listening to track four of the Amelie soundtrack on repeat, which John says he would like as the soundtrack to his life, but I secretly feel should be the soundtrack to my death - to a slow below-surface descent or a crystal-snapped moment of flight. (Death being the only real surety, and therefore life’s most consistent representative and proof.)

It occurs to me as the seafloor shifts, and a bathwater tsunami cleans the floor behind the toilet for the first time in months.

It occurs to me that the two pots of tea I brewed for this evening, that I promised Val would not keep her up - it occurs to me that the Puehr might have been caffeinated after all.


And God bless it, for nothing feels like this. Would I could capture this glorious, loud solitude, and tuck it behind my left ear for times of deep need. Keep it for those times I can’t hear my own voice and the thudding of blood and sizzle of synapse makes me isolate and despair. Oh how I long for the blurring of my edges, for the precious, rare moments when my borders thin, disappear, and there is nothing solidly me.