i taught myself to swim, you know.
06 April 2005
12:05 a.m.
My mind is not quiet tonight.
My fingers are stained with blue night ink. I meant to write a letter. I wanted to write a poem. But words, tonight--for weeks--have come most in the moments away from a medium on which to capture them, and my memory plays the rebel.
I feel an intersection within me. That proverbial crossroad that goes in four directions but ends, ultimately, at the same place: you're the one piece of luggage no one will steal (but they'll try).
Fear, mostly, threatens to cave in on me, but this fear speaks more quietly than most--or perhaps it's a language I've not studied.
There are doors all around me--doors to forgiveness and salvation--doors to denial--doors to love and heaviness (I am through with trying to match myself with lightness), but I am afraid.
Of movement. I am afraid of freeing myself. Keys are weights, too.