Anna (smolderingheart) wrote,

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We lock ourselves in makeshift cages, the kinds that only we hold the keys to and yet expect others to get through. I’m floating on a glass cloud, push – push – push – slam – break. Oh this imagery is every day. My mind is racing, coughing up useless information or useful depending on my mood. I substitute insanity for rage. I wonder if it’s possible that I have begun to define myself by where I am. The airport, a bus, a train – a book in hand my purse hitting my hip while I let it dangle across my shoulder falling just there – there as I walk or move. I am tired of the disconnect between myself and other human beings, always with an gadget in hand lips and mouth numb. Movement crossed only by fingertips or earphones in ones ear. Am I the only one that thinks people look more and more like aliens every day?

In Philadelphia I toss my bag to the side and plop down on a rocking chair leaving my thoughts to wonder. I am sad, sitting there by myself. When I tell a friend a week or so later that this life is a lonely one he makes a joke. It’s harmless but it feels like a punch, a stab in the heart. People like to keep things clean, in the shape of cookies and cutters. But I am lonely and it doesn’t change how many airplanes I board, how many strangers I sit next to I am still at the end of every trip a little more lonely than I was before it all began. No, this life is better than the ones I’ve had before but sometimes I wish I could press the slow button and let it all reach a speed I can understand and partake in. Saying goodbye to friends, and lovers makes my heart expand and then compress. It isn’t healthy, and I find myself crying in fits or laughing – one extreme to another. A dash of cake, and gin followed by too much red meat in a state of euphoria it all implodes.

I am shaking somewhere Vegas, Houston – both airports I trudge into the public restrooms find a stall and cry. I hate leaving these people I love. Blood has never meant very much to me. It is more about the family I’ve created – sometimes it’s magical that I can have so much in so many places – a million different lives waiting for me but it is making me crazy. Pieces of me spread out everywhere, a longing to bring myself together creeps at me. Away I long for New York – the shot-y subway lights, the way it stops sometimes and all of us in the car are faced with looking at one another again. When I was young, you made friends in the subway crashed into people. I still feel less lonely in New York than anywhere else. I love the crisp air that is filling the city blocks, the sound of my heels on the cement as I walk – the way when it is cold enough my breath dashes into the air. My heart is here, here, here. My head is everywhere. I sleep like a madwoman, and dream of too many things that when I arouse again I tug at my sheets till I am asleep again. I miss so many people, even those from the past linger somewhere.

I am too young to have a dead lover. I think of him sweeping me into his arms, my young and naïve head falling on his chest. We look so soft and sweet in photos. The clock was ticking – tick – tick – tick. I love you. I love you now. I love you forever. The shape of our hands together for everyone to see, his arms full of my books even when my ego raged at him to let me carry them on my own. He used to run past me, tap me on the head – scream my name like an animal awaiting his prey. It doesn’t make sense to me this clock that ticks for all of us caught him too quickly. He pressed his heart to mine before he died and still I can’t get passed it. The heartbreak swells inside of me making pigmented babies. This year is shaped like an old fashioned roller coaster, and it stirs and makes creaky noises as it moves but I see an end to it. Maybe an softness will come over me soon. I feel too raw now, as if I have just broken from the womb and surfed forward – rushed, scattered. I need some ground to carry me back.
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