You tell yourself that you’re not lonely, you tell yourself that you’re just fine and yet, You find yourself clinging to the legs of a kitchen table like a child, hiding beneath a tablecloth like you once did in the folds of your mother’s red dress You find yourself trying to adjust the arms of your chair, trying to move them this way and that but they can never hug you tight enough You find yourself falling apart in the hands of a clock at midnight but these hands keep moving and you can never catch up You find yourself on your knees at the mouth of a river, gulping handfuls of dirty water as if this is your oasis and you cannot stop drinking You tell yourself that you’re not lonely and yet, and yet
Kelsey Danielle, “Recreating the Body” (via pigmenting)
