She disappears without goodbye and appears without hello, but on rare occasions I am aware that she’ll come soon. It’s a feeling deep in my lungs, hiding from the new oxygen.
She appears after a long day in bright lights, too tight crowds, loud tourists and arms heavy with books, and food for later, and other pleasures I can’t find at home.
I close my eyes and it takes her a few minutes for her to come knocking at my mind and soul. She greets me with the usual heaviness in my lungs and a flying soul.
Sometimes I feel frustrated with her disappearance.
Why are you ignoring me? I scream and cry into the night. What have I been doing wrong?
It doesn’t matter, it’s after 9.
“Don’t trust your thoughts about your life during the night.” The advice they give to people who are “Sad”
I wipe the tears and sleep it off. The next sun-up, I don’t even remember why my bed is covered in tear-wet tissues.
Sometimes I forget her existence and am content with what happens and my own feelings. Sometimes she surprises me, my hands and mind busier than they have been in months, years.
BANG¡ I dance and laugh with glee, she’s back I tell the air, the papers, the books, the atoms of my world and existence.
