and it is

And then there are those times in bed when no one shut the outside light by your window off,

And as it shines overhead you can pretend it's the moon-

as your breathing to yourself, 'just fine, just fine.'

I feel in these moments that I have never been further from knowing what I am doing:

A reminder that every day, we are all just living.

So you turn to those memories and images that almost have a texture in your mind.

And you're skiing through the snow in the woods in Vermont, 

or you're jumping down the sand dunes like they're the end of the earth-

And they are.

Then you're running barefoot down the dark cobbled streets:

And the pitter of your feet patters 'Just fine, just fine.'

these days

        i keep coming to my senses with my head in my hands, or braced on the edge of the desk. with my hair in my fists i feel insane. i keep finding notes i've written myself, and of all the things that happened last week, i cant remember which were dreams,

     sometimes as my head falls back, i can let it all go while i hold on tight.

     i remember this day i was so convinced i had figured out imagination; when i closed my eyes, i saw speeding racecars, but when i blinked and shut my eyes tight all over again, they had sped off. and in fourth grade i tried to tell my teacher that racecar was a palindrome but she didn't believe me. 

      but then there were saltine crackers, and track races and math textbooks that i stole in middle school by accident- that plagued my conscience but i was too scared to return them the next year thinking my teachers would be mad i hadn't done so promptly last june. and sometimes i wonder where i would be if it hadn't been for the people who forced me to be something. 

      and then with the hand me down track spikes and the pick me up ice cream cones with the pretty girl who i didn't understand, came the means to be something by myself. and with the summer and the short hair and the long bike rides, and with times on top of the car at night, and the times asleep in the sand, came the chance. 

     but i'm still sorting it out, sorting myself out. there are times when i forget my thoughts before they reach my lips, and times when i forget how to move my legs or grit my teeth. 

       i catch myself when i forget what summer feels like. what fast feels like, or skin on skin, but more importantly skin on concrete, and blood in my veins- or the sound on the dock in the rain surrounded by lily pads and the smell of wet dog. these are the things i won't let myself lose sight of if i open my eyes. our imagination leaves us when we have enough memories to go on without it, i think.

      i grit my teeth as i rip my knuckles open over and over again.

     and sometimes i'm on the right track.

     and when i grit my teeth the fourth time round the track, i feel so fucking weightless; falling apart has never looked so graceful, as i leave myself behind me for the entire world to see. 

everything, everwhywhere. fuck.

and when i was little i wanted to dig up what was left after the dinosaurs died.

and now i want to die.

in some cabinet somewhere, index labelled and easily overlooked,

my life between the thick black lines.

is this

really falling apart?

so close, so close, so close

to the goal, the close, the finish

line.

so where

does it come from?

the strength to see us to our end-

when i cant push myself anymore,

it's falling apart,

everything like i've always known it would.

it should have been a sign, those times

i couldn't move my feet

like i knew they could.

well i pull, when there's no more push i pull

on that elusive inconcrete feeling-

and recently it hasn't been working.