You

Name: You

Age: 41

Sex: Female

About you: This day, telling me to give my all… fear takes a back seat while the volume lessens in intensity… longing for an unknown, how and when it reaches a point of rest…

Instead of recognizing the facts, the lie proposed the day of birth holds strong onto the forefront of consciousness as an injection administered five hundred times daily before the awareness settles behind the door to our lives… until mounds of time have passed, jumbled and clogged in my mouth, falls this final speck of solitude.

Right after seeing Michelle off at the nearest airport, during Henry’s class and Jeff is telling me in detail about his weekend in Annapolis. The good market on East South Street was incredibly crowded today, offering turkey at $4.99; plus that man on the sidewalk who told me I looked like I had something to smile about… Who am I, this person?

This day has not come to me because I prayed; or pleaded; or cried through the night [only once]. Jeff can not save me, himself, working all day long while I am here typing, alone at the desk drinking this tea, the dark one, the bitter one… Who am I, me? You? You are still like me. The same. Recovering from last night, too much, excess… You are me. You can be here. You are, here. Standing alone yet surrounded. All is nothing yet is everything* but it will not be delivered yet to your ears or eyes nor will you ask to be born into paper form until you push, press, ask me to.

This is indicative of this, or that… telling one and another. This telling. Gazing beyond the telling will compliment another that wants attention, gifts, use.

This, now, is, only this. Him, only him, Michelle, only Michelle. This plague seems familiar to me, when it was closer, closer than now… before I knew better. Before this, trained to obey, giving oneself to the suffering and the interested and the promises to give. This can not continue this way, thought, action, day, fluid, murder, article, even revolution. Please, telling another is key. Key or next. Next would be okay. This gave me something to say and to write to use my time. Who am I, this person?

It will come again. Telling this is you and you telling me, now… telling this again. you