wifty
“I like being myself. Myself and nasty.”
A promise to be husked.
Train tracks travel side by side. Parallel lines. A relationship without overlap: he arrives too fatigued to express himself fully. I go to bed sad.
Sleep moves me to a dark room lit by candles that never flicker. Without movement I do not know who I am. Cold hands and feet. I steal chocolate cookies from a plastic bag and let the pieces melt in my mouth. They taste like my grandmother’s. Brown sugar and peanut butter. I’m wearing a tight dress with skinny straps that slide down my shoulders. My feet are bare. I fill my mouth and swallow until the bag is empty and my palms are sticky. I am starving and look out the window for more where there’s a white field filled with Red Deer.
Birds rouse me from the white sheets and I slip my feet into the fluffy slippers where I left them at the foot of the bed.
Who are you when no one is watching?
I hide behind a gold lock of hair I wash with avocado oil conditioning cream. I’m pale. My outline is grey. There are no speech bubbles to break the silence.
When will he wake up?
Photo source.
