After Us, The Deluge

The Atom Who Thought She Was a Star

                                                                                           Part 1

I wanted to leave tonight to look for mushrooms. I found some I couldn't identify even with crowdsourcing and archival botany books. I wanted to sneak out when everyone was asleep and cut them down like a Christmas tree. I was never allowed to use the saw, only my brother. There are a lot of mushrooms. Some so rare they could taste like coal and you would savor it. They're value and rarity are not inflated like diamonds.

There is a man in Boston he sells to every 5 star restaurant out of a van. I imagine he looks like Michalengelo's vegetable seller, he proclaimed, when he saw him he would always depict him as  the image of god. These restaurants change their menus daily all for the stock he has that day. He's mythical and one day I will find him.

I'll have to wait I'm watched a lot and if not perfect I lose. Well, I guess I lose myself. In this time we feign control and we never lose our freedom. It's the disappointment and slow loss of confidence that any thought you have is correct. It's ourselves we lose.

I used to sneak out and swim in the ocean at 2am. Kiss strangers. Throw away all my clothes and fly as far as I could. I danced. I collected. I painted.

I now sit on a second hand pottery barn couch. I hear my son and fiancé upstairs. They snore. If I'm too loud I'll be forced to join them. But sitting in the dark writing to you seems important. It's gives me significance.

No, significance of any kind in my life is way too farfetched. I am an atom that convinced herself I was a star. But you. Since I saw you. It allows me to dream that my words are heard. 

I dreamt of you three times. You were faceless. You only touched my hands. You asked me about each scar and I remembered I lived. I had memories.

My left palm. I have a white line. I call it my courage line. I pretend to palm read when I want to be interesting. I was 12 on Marco Island during a tropical storm. My brother dared me to swim. I did. It was easy at first. The rhythym of violence has always been a talent of mine. I was distracted by something on the beach, and pulled under. I couldnt reach the air. It felt like hours I was sucked under and I grasped at the ocean floor. I'm not sure what split my palm but the pain jetted me back into oxegyn. I swam back covered in blood and triumphant.  I think it was one of the few times I really felt victorious. 

It's 3am. I'm fighting sleep. Your constant presence makes my days harder. Are you real? Or just my loniliness. Sometimes an expensive ring acts as a handcuff.

I'm sorry I took a break to listen to every song that ever broke my heart. And drink a beer. Stalk my boyfriend's computer. The only thing I ever find is shame. Shame at my paranoia and illness. Shame I'll never be perfect.

I wish he looked at my hands like you did. My cuticles broken and bleeding with a story, My baby told me he didn't love me. I worked all day on the house and it's such a mess. The yelling. Money and Electricity and burnt rice. Money

The sun is out now. I'm going to pretend to sleep.

Pretend... so your soft voice won't say I'm magical.

I'm not 20 anymore.

Leave me tonight to my sore back, and unwanted touches.