Tuesday.
I guess I mostly sat there wondering when it was going to end - when it’s going to end; if it starts, how much it will hurt to quit; if it works, how will I get myself out of it? I had to skip my tea this morning and my brain was scrambling around for answers it doesn’t yet have.
Palm against warm palm, I’m not sure that I want the answers. I want to stay just like this, just for a little while, just long enough to be sure it’s really happening. I don’t have great faith in any one thing, just lots of tiny things, and I need to feel that this could be one of them before it actually is, if ever it is.
I remember you, you who came after that first big one, the same way I remember my own birthday, where my driver’s license sits in my wallet - it’s second nature by now. My memory of what transpired, what bypassed us both, flickers all the time. If I really looked, I could remember perfectly. But I don’t. I don’t need to because I know that the present means death to the past. The future won’t know anything different.
