a small something
the 16th year was a blur. i barely remember who i was; i have to piece together my identity with old photographs and letters. thoughts and feelings have long escaped
and it comes again to this feeling of clouds in my lungs, waking days drifting through repeated realities. i keep experiencing deja vu; is it just that i’ve been living this same life ten hundred times over? every day comes with its small mountains in different forms and courses, but in the larger scheme of things they crumble to vague difficult terrain. yet did i even remember the very terrain upon which i trod? maybe i want to remember this mind-numbing feeling
even if it’s no feeling at all. having too many things crowd my mind at night, the powerlessness of being unable to chase them away for good, finally slipping into slumber i don’t know when. this emptiness overwhelms, and if there is nothing at all
still i hope to write, and remember the nothingness for as much of a something it is: children sleeping in dark classrooms and hoping for more time before the teacher steps in.