alethiology
“You can’t find someone who doesn’t want to be found.”
I’ve hidden in hieroglyphs—in blotted ink and iris—for decades. I mistook my penchant for cursive for a talent in writing. My childhood journals contain the epic that never ends; each letter's tail bleeds into the next word.
Romance must be expressed in the crevasse; any outward overture makes me cringe. I mailed a parcel wrapped in pink and gold lamé across the Mediterranean Sea to the Pacific Coastline. The tracking number is affixed to the epicenter. In the postal app, the digital truck’s tires spin constantly, and the letters flash IN TRANSIT—the story of my soul.
My issue is with the plaintive hum of the ceiling fan; the beating wings remind me that I cannot fly and my arrival will take days to organize. The circulation of the room where I sleep is terrible. The stagnant air dusts my throat and I light wand after wand of insence to clear the ghouls from the kitchen sink. Something moved under the wood and I dreamt of maggots writhing in the shadows. I draped heavy blankets over the windows to soften the sharp lighting from the corridor, but the fluorescent peeps through the cracks. Small eyes glitter from a burrow. The washing machine flooded twice and I've taken it as an ill-fitted omen. The spirits say I'll drown in my sleep so I close the window. A moment later, it storms and I hear the hail pinging the window. As soon as I enter the studio, I feel itchy and I know it's because the walls are coated in dirt. I wipe the white surface with thick towels and the cloth is pure when I look at my palm. Someone told me a lie; I can feel it.
Migration is easy; I let go and lift off without leaving the ground. The birds accept their new environment. They must, or they’d starve. I’m itchy, and the only explanation for my tingling is the spirits suffocating the room's flow. I hunger like a riptide with a belly full of sand. Heavy with the residue of what I used to want, I don’t yearn for the past; I spark for the future. Who strikes the match is the only question worth considering. I want to pry my skin back to see what else may be holding me together. And what could be holding me back.
Photo source.
