I’ve been trying to say goodbye since this whole thing started.
My collection of rocks. Snippets of borrowed conversations in really bad, obfuscating poetry. Instagram pictures of banquets and nights on my walk. Gen’s birthday cake I made from scratch.
My dreams and my reality are fusing into one protracted memory. Which one, is the bigger question that I know now will never be answered.
I will never grow up to be a big deal, or beloved. I will never be an important person who changes lives. I will never see Spain, or your children.
I will never know love. Real love, as you wrestle in your sheets, drowning in loneliness.
Borrowed snippets on the way to someone else’s gig.
“You sound like you’re dying.”
I’m afraid to go to sleep. Every night, I stay up even though I’m dog-tired, waiting until the light, until it’s safe. Maybe it’s my way of dealing with the inevitability of tomorrow, where time flies and nothing stands still.
Later and later, over stupid shit: cleaning the bathroom, fixing a blog entry that no one will read, one more row of stitches on a scarf no one will want, one more You Tube video about chem trails, ultra-frequencies, and CERN, anything and everything to distract me from the cancer to come.