The
edges of me feel yucky. In that brief moment before "No", I was
slurped up by the foul lips of the immediate future. Within that single second,
everything which would have happened after a "Yes" happened anyway.
In hyper-speed. Condensed. And therefore with unbearable intensity.
I was put into a situation which gave me two detestable options. So that, regardless, I was left with a diseased conscience. No illness from poorly chosen actions, but from that pause lingering in me. That hesitation itself had a voice which screeched up and down the long, narrow cavity of the broken bus and gluttonously ate my footsteps along Beechcroft Avenue and accompanied me to bed. A putrid companion.
Sincerely, I asked because of your props, not because of your blocking or your delivery.
Strangely, no fear from me. Rather, some pity.
But still, a yucky feeling... One which leaves me hovering at the window suspiciously, wondering whether to break the ritual of open curtains. Questioning, too, how Christmas can be mid-winter. Not in this country, I suppose. Though maybe in your native land. Which explains the back-to-forwardness.
It feels invasive knowing society allows for such encounters. I am not a movie. I am not your vehicle to spontaneity. I am Natalie Maria, trying to go home.
I was put into a situation which gave me two detestable options. So that, regardless, I was left with a diseased conscience. No illness from poorly chosen actions, but from that pause lingering in me. That hesitation itself had a voice which screeched up and down the long, narrow cavity of the broken bus and gluttonously ate my footsteps along Beechcroft Avenue and accompanied me to bed. A putrid companion.
Sincerely, I asked because of your props, not because of your blocking or your delivery.
Strangely, no fear from me. Rather, some pity.
But still, a yucky feeling... One which leaves me hovering at the window suspiciously, wondering whether to break the ritual of open curtains. Questioning, too, how Christmas can be mid-winter. Not in this country, I suppose. Though maybe in your native land. Which explains the back-to-forwardness.
It feels invasive knowing society allows for such encounters. I am not a movie. I am not your vehicle to spontaneity. I am Natalie Maria, trying to go home.
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