I don't live in the past so much as I skim my fingertips over its saturated, amorphous surface from time to time. bounding down our then-seemingly-infinite driveway to ambush my dad in his cranberry pickup, just to greet him after a long day's work. destroying coloring books with my mom in one of her fits of silent artistry.
the longstanding debate of nature versus nurture likes to hang out in my lucid dreams. just last night, it interrupted me as I scaled a barbed-wire fence. I silently cursed the concept, little bits of metal latching its claws onto the skin of my thigh. I didn't want a trickle of blood to slow me down, since I was following someone. a girl with twine for hair and big mood ring eyes. she took me into a house with molded walls. all of its windows were sleeping. and then we went into a big room with stuffed animals--they were all missing something: an eye, a leg, a smile-- with a hole in the floor. I feel as if it sucked us in. perhaps by way of intrusive curiosity...is wondering a sin?
maybe it was hell, and maybe it wasn't. but you couldn't sit up, much less stand. it was pleated crawl spaces of chalky walls, further confused by searing pipes that kept singing my hair.
her face was incandescent and it hurt to look at it because her eyes were big craters with nothing behind them and she wanted me to descend further, but I could feel the pipes breathing faster and she was strangling me with her viney arms and pulling me down further further until
my cat was kneading her claws on my belly through the sheets and waking me up.
*picture not related.
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