please, remember me.

thick.

every day is an ending. each day a beginning. a cycle of hours and titles that we give slots of time. we restrain ourselves. naturally many things have happened over this most famous of restraints. exactly a year ago from today. the flutter in awe of cuff links and liquor glazed eyes. i could tell i loved because i was in pain. i think that therein lies how we know, how we know what our hearts already understand. you'll be in pain. my eyes are constantly tired, my body doesn't move like my mind wants it to. i know the change and i'm making it. it's not for you. it's for myself. a selfish desire that everyone concedes is good. i've stopped trying so hard and everything feels lighter. i've started embracing the daylight, knocking out plaster and papermached windows, scrubbing away grime to let the light filter in. it's a slow process, but i'm making it. i've become more emotional, more in tune with the depth of sorrow, the strains of sadness. it's made me desensitized. today, adam taught me something. he verified what i already felt. i've become more like you. i guess that's what my subconscious wanted, but i hate it. i hate how my hands are lackluster and fumble, how i can never seem to make it worth it. i hate how my heart feels empty, how it longs for something that it can't seem to find. on freshly placed pillows, my head turned towards a wall, my spirit shared a self-reflection that it hadn't intended. i'm impatient, as always, but i know that what awaits will be what i've wanted. nature does nothing in vain, right lewis? call it a spiral, call it a twister, call it a curl of ribbon that i wrapped around a vile of thoughts. it scares me when i start to forget, when i begin to reflect less. gretchen says that my problems are due to that, that constant need to reflect and plan. it's a defense mechanism, admittedly, but it's also my oxygen, how i survive. it hurts that i can't depend on myself. it stings how dependent i have become. right now words are swelling rapidly, acting as a fog, a heavy settling on my forehead. i used to wish for a pen that could tap this fog gently in hieroglyphics on a piece of paper or some blinking cursor. i found that pen. it's a chewed up bic, a topless paper-mate, times new roman. miracles can happen.

he died, i died, she killed herself. those same liquor glazed eyes grew warm to my own, who were new in their blinking fog, a different fog than the one i knew well. i was scared. i still am. i don't want to be that tide. i don't want you to be the moon. i want to be the tiny crabs that we dug up on the beach, wet and snug in their densely packed homes, somehow safe from the pounding of bare feet and water- only a tiny pock marking their addresses. i wonder how they get mail. i'll dig way down to protect myself from the pecking beaks of sea gulls. i'll squirm warm and panicked in the june sun, cupped in the palm of a curious someone who means no harm. misinterpreting their intentions, i'll flip and run, jumping off the cliff of their fingers and landing on my desert. i'll dig again until i find myself alone and shaken, breathing heavily in the darkness of my own tomb.

this is too dark and too deep, too many shades of blue and not enough green. i'm brighter than this, i swear. my fingers enter pillow cases and locks but my mind screams neons and ice water, slicing open the wound that you thought was healed. that was a mistake, but it was a mistake we all need to make. it reminds you that you are human. it reminds you that a year is just a year, that there is no reset button, and that all you can hope for is that you don't forget what you desire. sure i'll make my own resolutions, but a resolution can be made any day, any time, any fraction that you spend during this period of time that we call life. don't forget to listen to yourself. the twilight zone is on. guide yourself along that heavily shaded path, listen to the soft jangle of wind chimes and the scent of honeysuckle.