Belgrade Day 4: No rest for the wicked

Some days I succumb to fatigue and leave it to do with me, what it will. Thoughts are dark, dreams of even less light. Just walking out the damn door is a challenge. I see-saw at that inside-outside threshold like a wary animal. Outside there is noise and bright light and people who will look at me and might even talk to me. Every brush with another human being is a collision (to plagarize May Sarton).


The ones I long for contact with are out of reach; we mutually understand that evidence of the things we most need to speak of, must be destroyed. Sometimes the truth of why I keep move is self evident. Sludge under a footfall. Unable to wake, gripped in a long scream.




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