January 14th, 2014

This morning I walked in the long way, through many doors and gates.
Walking over the cobbled sidewalks, almost twisting my booted ankle,
weaving through the fog -- the sun not yet even touching any of us, the
cobbles, the fog, or me -- I sighed the kind of sigh that comes after many years
of bending over a loom, after many years of walking down a road that never
even curves, after many years of counting stars. I am tired but not so tired that
I choose the easy route. It's like this: I have nothing to say today. This is just
a Rorschach of blood as I open my wounds onto this page. What shape do
you see? It looked like a castle to me, and then a tiger, and then a huge ship
passing out of view. Say it in as few words as possible so this opening can close.  
I never loved you. I only loved myself. I stopped to adjust my bag in front of your
first apartment and as I looked over my shoulder I saw 19 year old you in the
window, breathing on the glass and tracing the word "help". I averted my eyes,
shouldered my bad, straightened my spine, and walked on, avoiding the cracks.