These first moments

These first moments set a tone and pull together a way of tying my thoughts to what I see. If I can make myself see through the brick wall, or look all the way through the mirage of time, through this lump that will be a day, as I sit still in it, seeing myself crepuscular in the next morning, in the same place but a different person, who maybe isnt running, or collapsing, it makes me have no need for hope, only acute vision. With my eyes closed I feel these things. I dont need to see them. I dont need to compare them or corroborate them. I need only to feel the water wick’d from the air and from my sheets, to know that I should stack pillows and covers into the corner where the bed nests into the corner, and entomb my head within it. I cant trust that I wont open my eyes. I need to set aside a day that makes a nick in my life, that I will get hung up on, that the rest of the days will crumble away from. How do I do that. When I open my eyes, everything will have already happened, I will be wandering up to myself from behind and slipping into a mess.

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