Consciousness peeling away from my body like sunburned skin;
Like dried glue and fidgety fingers, nervous from thoughts of what is to come
The crash of glasses and you,
Dinner simmering with a cloud of steam fogging the glass – an eyelid closing.
The walls that once felt drafty, now impenetrable.
There’s no use knocking now.
. . .
I had this feeling earlier today—at the thought of a memory, or an imagination—of my essence pulling away from myself, separating, hiding, floating, leaving. Watching this dissociation, this image of peeling apart came to me. This sensation I’ve felt many times, of being apart from my body when being in it is too much to handle.
I couldn’t decide, was this the feeling of splitting apart two things made of sameness, or removing a foreign substance from some base existence?
Then I couldn’t help but think of the nervous fidgeting that often pairs with these situations, in the waiting for the next time.
In the moments when a place with ways to see out and in, body and home, becomes foggy and clouded. Claustrophobic traps, hidden. Where no one can see your tears. Where outside hope feels unreachable and the promises beyond the glass, gone.
. . .