I am lost, therefore, I am free.

Here I am, a bundle of past recollections and future dreams, knotted up in a reasonably attractive bundle of flesh. I remember what this flesh had gone through; I dream of what it may go through. I record here the actions of optical nerves, of taste buds, of sensory perception. And, I think: I am but one more drop in the great sea of matter, defined, with the ability to realize my existence.

My eyelids close and that’s the only line of warmth I feel on my body in this 110 degree weather.

No one sees it but me.

I walk the Earth.
Pen between my index and thumb.
Notebook held close to chest.
It’s the only thing that keeps me from going numb.

But then again, does anyone see anything anymore?

As I walk I see a woman fall.
The street is crowded with civilians.
No one helps.
I walk up to her to see if she’s okay.
She is the first one who’s warm embrace I felt.

I stepped on a crack as a child.
I broke a mirror.
Every time at dinner, salt came out of the container for something other than my lentils.
It’s broken.
The years are not up.
I look over my shoulder at the past, and cringe.

The only thing left warm on this body is closed eyes.

The broken mirror shows my reflection. Of a broken girl in a broken home living in a broken world with broken dreams.

Tell me, what’s broken?

Posted 5 months ago