i'm just one person trying to make sense of something
I wanted to say to her, Yes, there were problems, our relationship was difficult to understand, and complicated, but still, I would like just to have you sitting there on the daybed where you did sleep for a few nights once, it’s your part of the living room now, I’d like just to look at your cheeks, your shoulders, your arms, your wrist with the gold watchband on it, a little tight, pressing into the flesh, your strong hands, your short fingernails, I don’t have to look you in the eyes or have any sort of communion, complete or incomplete, but to have you there in person, in the flesh, for a while, pressing down the mattress, making folds in the cover, the sun coming in behind you, would be very nice. Maybe you would stretch out on the daybed and read for a while in the afternoon, maybe fall asleep. I would be in the next room, nearby.
Sometimes, after dinner, if she was very relaxed and I was sitting next to her, she would put her hand on my shoulder and let it rest there for a while, so that I felt it warmer and warmer through the cotton of my shirt. I sensed then that she did love me in a way that wouldn’t change, whatever her mood might be.
written by Lydia Davis, “The Seale” taken from Can’t and Won’t
I was working in a gallery that was much bigger than the one I work at now. I was leading an educational workshop for about a thousand children and a few adults. Some of the kids I recognized from the elementary school I worked at. I looked accomplished; I was wearing a pantsuit and felt powerful in it. I had just explained how the workshop schedule on a microphone by the window of the gallery. The windows were large, thick, bubbled windows—the kind you would see people’s bathrooms in movies from the 80’s and 90’s. At one point I was walking around the room, answering questions and talking to children and monitoring the other volunteers helping with the workshop. I then found myself away from the center of the commotion, by a corner that, if you walked around it, led to another gallery. I remember standing there for quite some time in silence until I heard someone cough quietly. I turned and looked over my shoulder, and there you were with your friend with the pretty blonde hair; giving me the ugliest look, the kind where you want to run away and hide rather than hear what this person has to say. I quickly and quietly dashed away, suddenly feeling very small; all my empowerment diminished because the love you used to have for me has gone. I haven’t seen you in almost two years and I didn’t even have to be conscious to feel that pain.
written by C.R. (via naturallydope)
I always listen to Board at Canada at night, completely sober and my mind goes to landscapes: just floating around in vastness, being alone in the middle of the ocean, just floating there, like there was nothing that could harm me, even if I sank to the bottom; floating in space and not ever having to breathe, getting in the pool at night after everyone’s asleep and laying on my back with my ears underwater so all I hear is the sound of my own breathing. I never think about anything frightening when I’m listening to them, I’m always entranced. my mind wanders and I let it roam freely because I know it won’t open any doors that should remain locked.