The autumn sky is a deep black bruise and I drown in its ache.
What a strange feeling—
for someone who loves words,
I can’t name this…
this is what I know;
it hurts to breathe,
I tremble upon anyone’s touch,
under anyone’s gaze,
so I left for someplace
now I walk towards
an unnamed destination
back buried by a bloated backpack; I can go anywhere I want;
and yet I can’t,
I close the umbrella and the salt on my face is gently washed off. I find a tree and press my unsalted cheeks to the drenched bark;
I don’t stop
even as passing couples
I don’t stop until the prickling
sensation turns to pain.
It seems I can’t tremble on my own,
so I walk and walk with no thoughts (shouldn’t there be thoughts?)
I walk and walk
until a middle-aged man in a silver car eyes me through his greasy window and slows down his vehicle,
pulling over to park,
eyes still locked on my frame // I pace quickly
and run and run until I reach the end of a street three blocks away.
I’m not sure how to get back home and while that would usually terrify me, I seem to be much more terrified of the unnamed feeling //
the feeling that brought me here to drown in autumn’s bruised night. What is it? what is it?
I don’t know.