Confessions
There are things I just can't tell you.
You would not think I was sane if I told you that I occasionally forget what side of the street to drive on and that I get so lost in imagination that I can forget where I am.
And sometimes I think the world is ending and imagine I could save it.
I even wonder if my cats can hear my thoughts. Or if coffee cups will feel neglected if I don't use them equally so I try to just in case, but I still have my favorites.
You would not think I was sane if I told you that I occasionally forget what side of the street to drive on and that I get so lost in imagination that I can forget where I am.
And sometimes I think the world is ending and imagine I could save it.
I even wonder if my cats can hear my thoughts. Or if coffee cups will feel neglected if I don't use them equally so I try to just in case, but I still have my favorites.
I used to want to be an entomologist for the sole reason that I was so fascinated by roly polies, like miniature armadillos of the west. I used to want to be a lot of things for silly reasons. I probably still do.
When you look at me as I lie next to you, the ways lines form beside your eyes is the most beautiful thing I think I've ever seen
I have to look away from those eyes sometimes, maybe out of fear that you can see inside of me. But I long to gaze into their intensity. To see and be seen.
I photograph you in black and white in my mind and imagine I've captured something of your essence. I think you could be famous.
But I can't tell you that.
But I can't tell you that.
Like I can't say that I sort of wish we had been young together
Or that you very well may be my favorite lover.
It plays in my head, the way our energies spiral together bringing about an intoxicating trance and it feels like a surreal fantasy. Your gentle fury leaves an impression in my bones and I feel you with me like a phantom when I'm alone. I wonder if I'm mad, if I've made you up inside my head.
I want to open to you, and to open you.
I've had years of this practice at curling into a protective ball,
not unlike the roly polies I studied in my youth.
Or that you very well may be my favorite lover.
It plays in my head, the way our energies spiral together bringing about an intoxicating trance and it feels like a surreal fantasy. Your gentle fury leaves an impression in my bones and I feel you with me like a phantom when I'm alone. I wonder if I'm mad, if I've made you up inside my head.
I want to open to you, and to open you.
I've had years of this practice at curling into a protective ball,
not unlike the roly polies I studied in my youth.
But I do think of you when I lie in bed.
The thoughts circulate over and over
And I wish I was with you.
The thoughts circulate over and over
And I wish I was with you.
I want to tell you, but I can't.
It's my secret to keep.
I keep it even from myself.
-“Whoever he is who opposite you
sits and listens close
to your sweet speaking
and lovely laughing – oh it
puts the heart in my chest on wings
for when I look at you, even a moment, no speaking
is left in me
no: tongue breaks and thin
fire is racing under skin
and in eyes no sight and drumming
fills ears
and cold sweat holds me and shaking
grips me all, greener than grass”
― Sappho
It's my secret to keep.
I keep it even from myself.
-“Whoever he is who opposite you
sits and listens close
to your sweet speaking
and lovely laughing – oh it
puts the heart in my chest on wings
for when I look at you, even a moment, no speaking
is left in me
no: tongue breaks and thin
fire is racing under skin
and in eyes no sight and drumming
fills ears
and cold sweat holds me and shaking
grips me all, greener than grass”
― Sappho