fou.

April 23, 2012

I could recycle the things I say and never hear the difference.

sleep. you’re tired and running up against deadlines and a little bit scared and always, as always when you’re tired, insecure. you’re starting to think yourself into a small embankment, arms tight around your knees, back against the grass and the dirt and the hole you’re worrying into the skin of the earth. the skin of things.

the door is open. you can see the stairways, stretching down into the dark like a hand reaching for a child. a friend. another person. like the word yearning, like a voice that says

sleep.

it’s a word that fou, floats to the surface of things like a face breaking water, jerks up from the dark harbourwash with the ungainly yank of lightness, a box, a piece of junk popping up into the clear. water spilling off it into the dark, the grey foam, the unseen beneath and the dark-grey piers indistinct in the mist. there is mist. there is always mist.

fou. you are afraid and scared and lonely and all the synonyms for fear that are and are not the same thing, for lonely is not quite fear and fear is not quite –

sometimes you are always alwaysalways that, foolish-faithless-hopeless-reckless. condemnation and a title all in one line, a breath, a bible verse to remember above and over and over everything else. sometimes that is all you are and childofGod means nothing, nothing at all. it is so hard to see

Paranoid and faithless? I wrote. Bedtime.

Insecure and beginning to think people are secretly talking behind your back? Bedtime.

Suspecting the worst of silences? Bedtime. Rationality has climbed out the window and flown off on giant wings, bedsheets to the wind, a white cotton flapping in the night. People are much kinder than you think, usually. Particularly if they’re your friends. And you’re being as paranoid as when you were sixteen and didn’t have the ability to slow things down and look at everything clearly and objectively. That ability seems to have fallen asleep.

Bedtime. Join it for a few hours. Vasilissa’s doll is right- “The morning is wiser than the evening.” Things are always better when you wake.

(the easiest answers come first.)

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