Me Dissociating At The Function

me dissociating at the function

Brother

Come to the library

Pick my pieces up off the floor

Brother

Tell me someone loves me

She doesn’t give it to me anymore

Gather me the hell together

Lest I lose myself wholly in steele’s void

I

No one ever talks about the listless, restless, helpless feeling that turns your stomach when you watch the bond between two people you want to encompass like the atmosphere, who love each other, disintegrate. It’s the kind of tragedy no one hopes for, the kind that’s only ever shown in the movies with five sequels and a merchandise line.

It makes you question whether love is really real anymore, even when the sky is half sunny and half raining. It makes the warm little Tuesday afternoon droplets feel like ice. It makes birdsong turn to the devil’s laughter.

I’ve been going through something.

“Please just hold my hand.” I have to clarify again, like I always do. “Not… romantically or anything.” He can parrot me, at this point.

“I know.”

He reached over. I didn’t put down my ice cream. He took my hand.

“I promise you. Everything is going to be okay.”

“Does it get better?” I let my head roll over towards him.

“In this universe? It does.” He didn’t make eye contact with me.

I smiled wanly. “Liar.”

I blink a little too hard, and the vision is gone.

Not in this universe.

Five months, one hundred fifty three days, I’ve been going through something.

No ducks on my dashboard, not a manual or automatic. Just me and the two legs God gave me, begrudgingly. That’s evident by the pain in them.

Maybe the rain is something of God telling me to hold on.

No

One

Else

Watches

Buffy.

Dammit.

FIVE

HUNDRED

CIGARETTES

What is your favorite natural phenomenon?

[pauses political science lecture video]

It's a very specific arrangement and texture of clouds called Asperitas, and specifically the low, stratocumulus form. They pack together really tightly in winter in these beautiful layers. When the undersides are "rougher" and look sort of torn, I tend to say that the sky is made of wool.