She could swear every time she walks into her apartment, something is different.
She breathes in while standing in her water colored living room, eyes
run over the pale greens and washed out blue of her life. Stacked high in
corners, scattered on the leaning coffee table, wilting from lack of water in
her windowsill. She stands still and tries not to exhale, until her chest burns
and her eyes feel a little cloudy. She thinks about making a noise, something
human - preferably with words - out into the cold, still space of her home.
doesn’t it look like someone was in here?
She shakes her head a little, then
trails from room to room, flipping switches. On, everything on. Articles of
clothing shed from her as she walks. Light and skin become the dominant
features of the space. She steps softly into the bathroom, noticing, like
always, that the mirror is much too high.
It doesn’t matter. It’s covered in
lace and twine from the great week of destruction in 2011.
Oh that week.
the fraying edge of lace, she smiles and remembers how she stood looking at
herself for about an hour before she started throwing punches. Shame, she liked
Wandering out into the other rooms, she can see the soft indention
in the mauve carpet, where she’s done this a thousand times before. Her mind
clicks ever so slightly as she runs hands over her stomach to her chin. She’s breathing
a song that has been in her head since Wednesday as she touches the spot on the
counter in the kitchen where the paint is chipped to the steel.
Her feet tangle for a second, what is this.
This is nothing
This is your cave, your allegory, this is where you are.
brush, her hair shifts on her back, her eyes are not open anymore.
and green prison.
This place you claim to love. Is this yours?
The couch is just close enough. Her fingers find her pulse. She needs to remember to exhale.
What did you say? What did you want to say? Remember?
She's pulling her legs in.
We are talking to you. Don't be rude.
Her eyes are open now.
Just tell me what you were going to say.