There is so much confusion in his face – and my face – and her face as well. We sit and we smoke and we drink and we talk, and the air smells thick with memories and with anxiety.
I remember when we were all young and everything always smelled of summer – even if only in retrospect. All I taste now is bitter tobacco and tiredness. Why am I always worried when everybody else is fine?
Maximum time to regenerate. I am solitary now – not for too much longer, festive season fast approaching like an army of a victor – but somehow when I take my time and gently sit and chill and buzz – when I am solitary (and this is all for which I truly yearn) – I am panicky and cold, and warm, and sick and ill.
When did my dichotomy become so much pronounced? Shattering my face by running hands over sickened cheekbones and all. The cage is closer than it used to be. It’s been a while since I card, but now I worry often. Maybe it’s a good thing – at least I have a mind,