three hundred sixty-five

I can lay all the mornings spent with him out in front of myself on the floor, all sun-streaked and rainy

my hair knots up in the back, I presume it battles with my pillow while I sleep

searching for home in the shallow depths of my coffee at the cafes I have haunted day after day

minutes, hours all ticking away on the little brass timepiece I bought from a street market in copenhagen

plane tickets and tubes of lipstick and books I’ve bought but haven’t read a word of

tears and tears and tears, it feels as if there is a black hole inside me, pulling me into oblivion

I don’t know where I am supposed to be or where I will be once I orbit the sun again, what is it to be only one year older

and then, the sound of a camera shutter closing and the smell of the perfume I still wear

“I wish I had a river I could skate away on”

around town, up and down streets made familiar by the years and through intersections and on avenues that I am a stranger to

staring in the mirror for hours wondering what kind of impression I leave on the people I will only ever know in passing

words and words and words, what will I do with my life? there is sugar spilt onto my saucer in sweet crystalline constellations

I’ll fall asleep at 11:20, and the world will softly shift while I dream

day one