april 22 2024

There’s a frog in my throat. And a rock and a bomb and a flower too.

I wake up covered in cold sweat and existentialism. I’m naked. 

Shivering, I walk in the dark to the bathroom to pee and think. I can’t speak. Or rather, it’s that I don’t want to have to speak but I still want to be known, to be loved, to be seen. It’s impossible. I know. What I don’t know is what I’m so scared of.

I repeat the phrase “everything that I am” and I walk back to bed and try to dream of anything else. An old friend I no longer speak to visits me. We stare at each other. She says nothing. A flock of doves pass between us. I wake up for the second time to birds chirping and neighbours talking loudly. The world is alive. I swallow.