Sunday, July 18

red metal

The best hour spent in separate chairs. A glass of water like clear brandy, a slow man. The historical girl melting into two people: a girl and a boy. The first day of despair, the strongest day, a permanent feeling. like the rind of an orange pressed against my cheek, dead with sleep. this was the only permanent thing, the only thing I can always recall at will. A strong feeling, brittle inside of me, cold and golden. Like an icy wind. Shivering, awake, cold in bed, my mouth stuffed with music, my eyes wide. Yellow acid belly brimming with silence. The pale tone of the wall, light pressing into my skin, garish. That was the first time I knew myself as the sea. This was the change so often longed for, this set the permanence. I don't remember falling asleep, but I do remember dreaming of a red metal box. A symbol. Morning moved like a ghost throughout the house, up and down the stairs, calling for a matriarch. Morning, always buttery, always anticlimactic. Clothed in veils (all black), I move like a bull in a china shop. All home I prepare to be forgiven.This was important, so important. Accept this, and relinquish the search for the empty symbol.


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