every night after i fall asleep, something happens that makes me wake up. i’m never sure what it is exactly, a dream or my body or something creeping in, but there’s a feeling that i have when this happens that is always the same. it might be something like fear or sadness, worry or despair, but really it’s the feeling of wanting to breathe air. crisp air that’s fresh and wet and so coldly sharp it cuts all the all the way down to your lungs. and outside it’s so cold, freezing, your toes and fingers and face hurt, you shiver and shiver, you feel like bed is so far away and you’ll never be able to get warm again but all you want to do is be breathing air all the way down.
often i wake up in the morning all i want to do is cry.
this is a picture of my bed after i have slept in it and woken up crying.
i wrote this for someone who was away from home, and who i missed:
the sky outside is really blue, so deep i have nothing to compare it to. it’s bright though; a luminous deep blue. there are clouds that are big and solid, white, with insides of furious greys that are turning black. it might rain, it might storm. i hope it does storm.
i feel strange in my new house. not quite at home yet. storms are good for that. a safe place from the maelstrom can always make you feel at home. though equally it can make you feel more lost and alone.
some of the trees have begun to turn. their leaves no longer swish but rustle, and my feet are crunching more and more. i like walking into this season. this morning i walked home at six-thirty, there were tendrils of mist and damp noises everywhere. when iwalked into school to write you this, i blocked out everything but the sound of my own footsteps.
“keep walking”. a friend said that to me once. it takes a lot of strength to carry yourself, sometimes more than we have
i don’t know how to be any more. being nothing and having nothing and wanting to be nowhere and that’a all there is. there isn’t any more.
i can’t breathe
