I draw pictures of people when they are least recognisable, when they wake in the dark and find themselves at my door in the night.
i do not remember when I abjured this devotion to the gods, but it must have been when learned to trust only what I see.
The tide crashes –
the growing roar of the waves is the only indication of where the sea begins.
No winds blow and no stars shine. The sea abrades rocks and memories, and I walk and walk and lose the sand behind me, to a horizon in dark water and dark night I cannot find.
I can see there is so much to do- so much i want to do, so much i want to see and learn and make my own.
Listening to the fan turn in the dim light, as though it were somewhere else and I, someone else. My stomach churns and thighs ache, muscles beneath my skin stretching behind my knees, pulling and pulling till I give up on sleep and settle for whatever the night brings.
I am stuck here and I can’t get out.
maybe I should stop drawing and writing and breathing, but i find that i keep at it in the hope that when I’m dead, someone will like it.