flocks-of-blackbirds
We were never afraid of the dark as children I think; something about it comforted you, and I was too proud to be afraid of something you weren't.
It was strange though, because even as I thought myself brave, I would still stick a leg out from the covers, thinking if a monster were to grab me maybe it would be satisfied with my foot and spare the rest of me.
And so, in the middle of night I would test my worth - crawl out of bed for a glass of water, a cookie from the jar away from the accusing eyes of mom - and you would be right there with me, as a good younger sibling should, drinking out of my class and stealing tons of chocolate chips.
Now, I pretend to be brave. With the loss of childhood came the loss of courage, or at least the loss of any innocence.
I still think back to those times, the memories faint with aging but the general feeling still there. Unlike you little brother I am always afraid, but at least now I bury all of me under my thick blankets, bedsheets. Monsters would hardly stop with my right foot, so I might as well pretend they wouldn't come for me at all.
I lay in bed, with this heavy blanket the same weight in the summer, winter, spring. The walls are gray and the floor carpeted white, the only sound the ticking of a plain black clock - not corrected for Daylight Savings time of course.
As I have done in recent years, this past Sunday I spent watching the clocks on my phone, computer, waiting for 1:59am to reverse back to an hour behind.
See these man-made chains. How we force time to bind us, less of a force of nature but simply a force to be conquered. What a war-mongering people we are.
Last night, she stood on the rooftop, walked over tot he edge and glanced around her. Beside her was the entire city, imposing spiraled cathedrals, reaching for the stars. Helicopters and stars alike creating bright spots in a night sky, cars and people all smaller than ants.
For a moment, the world was small and comprehensible.
But only for a moment.
She turned around, spun in a circle once, and begun to dance.
I am an empty person you know.
Where there should be lungs instead is a space, a gaping hole, some nuts and bolts, a veritable collection of dust-mites.
Where there should be a brain instead is a frozen sea, ice concealing something deep and submerging, saltwater overflowing from my nose and ears.
Where there should be a heart instead is a sky, infinitely unattainable, clouds quietly out of reach.
When I was younger, I used to give away my love like it was a renewable resource. And so I'd give out bits and pieces of my heart, hands outstretched with twitching tissue.
Now, I am still young, and my heart is a shell of what it used to be, slivers of afterthoughts and clotted blood.
And without that energy, blood no longer moving under my skin, I find all of myself frozen now, petrified not by any outside force, but by the sheer stillness in my veins.
writing since 2017 · 5 entries · 5 days shown up
each square is a day—lit means Bodies showed up.
1longest streak
5days written
1.2entries / week
the words Bodies reaches for
nowforceheartinsteadnightafraidlossyoungerbloodfrozenskystarsmomentbedbravefoot