...

Yes. I am listening to Terami Hirsch's "Memory Picture" and crying into my cup of tea at 1:50 in the morning. Alone in my apartment.I only wanted a cup of tea, but all the boxes of chamomile and sleepytime and mint were empty, so I'm drinking decaf green tea peach, which I don't even like, but I needed to hold my favorite red mug full of warm herbal tea.My hair falls over my face as I lean over, curtaining the cup as my my nose nearly drips, and my eyes almost do too. This is who I am. i guess. This is me at my most basic. Bone achingly sad, in that almost indefinable grieving melancholy sort of way, with a clarity of life threaded through. I am not exciting. I am not energetic. i am delicate and broken and unknowing. beauty overwhelms me. The apartment is so quiet.

I feel disappeared. I feel as thin paper walls. Pages strewn with words, rubbed until the paper is clear, but all unread.

"But was this the face you loved?
Were these her hands?
Oh, I hardly recognize myself
I wanted this moment in my hand
I wanted to touch you
To feel you breathe
I wanted to hold you
So you wouldn't fall alone"
-Terami Hirsch, "Memory Picture"