a recounting of the ways my future lovers arrive through the ether
a little piece of (non) fiction ...too be continued
with a heavy heart she drags her feet to the nearest metro. grieving—again. when will it end? (she thinks.) still uncomfortable— with how quick she’s learnt to clock grief
in her body.
she levitates.
down the scum filled steps
of de l’eglise metro—
not because she feels light
but because she feels
nothing worldly
(in this state)
only the ambient ache
of another cord cut.
another connection severed.
perhaps there is a lightness to it.
her spirit defying gravity while her physical body stays put—it’s all her own doing and that keeps her moving. she ponders on her perpetual quest for alignment wondering why self actualization means leaving people behind.
unsure what to hold on to she clings
to the poetic symbol of a sift.
how it gently buffers
the clingy bits
of powdered sugar into
independence—
so they can
eventually
re-join the gang—
in the bowl.
but in this real life bowl—not one soul seems to pass through. the ever evolving filter of her self-understanding seems to cut instead of clear. with every new connection she holds hope that this time—will be different. and it always is— just not how she thought. never in an accomplished way.
maybe
she’s the one
being buffered
from her clingy bits
but she loves
to feel a victim
and she loves
to feel
right.
her weight shifts from side to side in an orange glow of gloom. looking around she thumbs for her comfort blanket—spotify— my playlists— when the grief hits— scrolling to the bottom she hits an acoustic cover by Annahstasia — bless the telephone.
surrendering to the waves of sorrow
she leans back lightly as the tunnel of wind
foreshadows an arrival.
suddenly she’s hit
with the warmth of familiar arms
in an unrecognizable body
wrapping her in a nostalgic duvet of support—
she leans in.
“ah you again”
(she says telepathically)
and just as she surrenders to this energetic support
her eyelids grow heavy.
and water pillows over her lash line
(dripping over the edge)
it lightly hydrates her under eye.
“i’m so glad you’re here.” (she whispers)