Sunday, November 24, 2013


If you've never said something so terrible. Wait- let me rephrase that. Have you practiced saying it, thought about it, dreaded it? You know, then, the shape it takes in your mind. The weight, the heaviness. Like a bag of terribleness. How the tendrils wrap themselves in the soft places of your mind. Saying it won't free you. If you think it will, I have to stop and laugh for a moment before resuming.

Say your something terrible, then. You will see it, in that moment, take form in the space between your lips and realize that, still attached to you, but released into the air, it will pull you down



I cannot be sorry. I can't take it back. I can't consume it again because it's become bigger than I am and now the fit is all wrong. I wait, suspended between my thoughts and those words and the bottom of everything (like Alice), I hang here, wishing you would - wishing something could- release me, so I can finally find out whether I'll fly or fall. I didn't think it would happen this way.