It’s all so beautiful but I am as separate as a ghost. 6 o’clock mid September brilliance. A gentle breeze. Sweet air. Warmness. Coolness. Sky clay blue and the hint of a tinge of white orange. Neighbor to the left is smoking. The smell cuts through both airs. I think about peeking over the fence and asking if he feels it too but I know he would never admit he did if he did.
i snuck out of bed, i couldn’t retire into myself any longer. it’d become inhospitable; cloying bedwarmth as remonstrating disconsolate and forbidding as anything else. so i got out, i tried to let the cobwebs of sleep in my brain be. they’re the only kind of company i know, you know, and when they glitter i can almost dream i’m home. but no.
i limped to the shower and pulled myself to a stand,