move to trash

begin with the beginning. begin with a letter, a word, two words, a punctuation mark. begin without the thing you thought you needed to begin. begin with hating the beginning. begin with admitting to yourself that this is both stronger than you’d like it to be.

Being here is skewing my sense of what is normal. Things don’t feel the same way that I expect them to (we’re back to Matty, aren’t we? so much time spent waiting in my wallet.), and I think I’m still reacting to that. It started with the immediacy of no longer having you around – and then today I was listening to a monologue and it described how it happened and I felt just slightly more broken (broken down) after having heard it. like the deepest sigh you can imagine, amplified by the residue of not enough sleep and too much time spent milling over everything. and then there are the rifts of a different kind – the stuff you don’t think about, the banal stuff that just makes you go ‘shit, it’s changed, hasn’t it?’. It’s all so strange, this melancholy that follows you everywhere except the ocean. the highs and lows and highs and lows. and maybe what hurts the most is how predictable it all is.

—–

tambahan: show up in the middle of the night. don’t knock. don’t turn on the lights. don’t say a single word. lie down and put your arm exactly where it belongs. fall asleep. stay.