tek or çift;

he pulls something from my face.

“tek or çift,” he says.

“tek,” i say.

it’s always a single eyelash, and tek is always the correct answer. the truth is that i saw it in the mirror earlier, but i was too unconcerned to remove it. perhaps i was hoping i would be granted a wish.

“make a wish,” he says.

i make my default wish, then stumble and wish another wish upon it, while another wish tread quietly underneath it.

“what did you wish for?”

i explain my messy three-layered wish. he looks at me with a curious look.

“that doesn’t count,” he says. “what was your main wish?”

“the same wish i’ve been wishing for since i was a little girl.”

my default wish overrides all other wishes. it is mechanical, automatic. it is akin to prayers, incantations. other wishes cannot be thought of and spoken before this one takes hold. it is the traditional bully wish; there is no point in wishing for anything else.

“it’ll come true,” he says.

i’m not sure i believe him.

 

 

staying awake shorter;

journée grise et lente. impossible de dire s’il pleut ou pas; la pluie est un songe imprévisible avant le réveil et elle va et vient comme elle le veut.

the rain, la pluie, i avoided her most of the day. staying in where the air is warm and comforting, where the words come easily and without judgement. i would rather be here than be there, although i haven’t quite figured out where i should not be. it’s just so beautiful here. beautiful, and easy, despite the strangeness in the heart that wavers like an old wound and its scent, permanently linked, absorbed and unbearable.

you stole a tulip last night on your way home. there are tulips everywhere. in a raki-infused dream you sought to make one your own and plucked it clumsily from the soil where it mingled with her sisters. you took the tulip home and gave her her own tea glasshouse. sitting on lydia, she bloomed full strength, never minding that it was well after midnight. this morning she greeted you with her coral lines and gentle breath. i don’t know what she makes of her new sights, and i don’t know how long she will be among us. the kidnapping was selfish and swift—an impulse in the night. what can you do? i love tulips at night too.

 

entrance;

quelques minutes avant la fin de la journée. comme le temps fuit. c’est peu dire. on ne sait pas s’y attarder, ni à la fuite, ni au temps qui la suit. on laisse passer. on ouvre la porte, on cède la route à défaut de savoir comment capturer, prolonger ou articuler autrement.

j’ai cette douleur dans le bas du dos. hier, c’était ma gorge. l’autre jour, mon coeur, ma tête, ma peau, mon nez. je suis constamment consciente de mes maux et des mouvements de mon corps. même lorsque tout va bien, il y a habituellement quelque chose. l’hypersensibilité généralisée, l’âme et les os.

porter attention à certaines choses et non pas à toutes les choses;
filtrer, réduire. perdre le souffle. se reprendre, s’entendre.

un ajustement perpétuel des sens et des sensations.

meanwhile —

i do love this table. i do love the rug underneath it. i do love the bookshelf that overlooks them. i love the floors, the ceiling, the ghostly curtain dresses flowing from top to bottom.  i love the wide windows and the view: the decrepit building, the car wash, the german shepherd with his lanky legs and wagging tail. i love the tramway as it heads down the road, the way it makes the entire room shake like a million souls trembling. i love the cackling of the crows and seagulls, my black cat sunbathing in the sun’s generous rays, the possibility that this place reminds me of a memory not yet created.