Divorce mee,'untie, or breake that knot againe, take mee to you, imprison me, for I except you'enthrall me, never shall be free


I feel a brewing, a light steam effacing my head and eyes. It's the hot wet whiff of coffee and you take off the lid to examine the contents. It's the pent and tingling insides of a child-mind mingling with the old reasons and the humble beginnings and the starch in-betweens.

I'm only nineteen. Not even twenty. I was slipping under a scaffold today to get back to my room and I thought, what a little space I can fit into, what a prick of a person on a city map from an airplane: it's why you always want the window seat. The nymphet cars and fraction people with penciled highways and plaything houses

I'm only nineteen, I'm not even twenty. A one year old adult, just moving on from apple sauce to crackers. Hmmm.

Reconciling needs to be done, here. Recently I had one of those epiphanies they keep telling me about, that elevated "eureka" moment where your brain finally cracks the puzzle you haven't even realized it's been working on. I have been gently bubbled in all my life and I feel like everything is hitting me like hot soup on my lap, the shocking temperature change of politics, morality, beliefs, lifestyle. To an extent, I think I've shut down, numbed up a bit from the warm insides to the cold outdoors. I've been running from the fact that I must put these two worlds together, and I can't just end what I was and still am. I'm marveling at my drying valentine's flowers that I am cared about despite myself, and I'm hooking back up to the IV: taking my time, gathering the little broken pieces of glass and me and petals and clay and searching for a mortar. I will be strong enough to be scared out of my mind and hanging on to the railing. Learning to walk takes time.