odeur de fin d'été

odeur de fin d'été, originally uploaded by copyright depuis 1965.

*__*__*

i am dismantling my little temporary nonexistence (yet again).

in the process i am preparing a list of resolutions for the next nonexistence i'll no doubt find myself thrust into.upon.

i am not ready to commit to any of them yet.

*__*__*

The sun has just gone down. I am sad. For approximately 4 minutes, my room was a perfect blue.

*__*__*

A STORY ABOUT A PERFECTLY BLUE FOUR MINUTES

She stepped in with no intention of staying for long. It is unfair that she knew how beautiful she was and how everyone would fall for her, and the advantages that such a thing gave her; but nonetheless, she knew. She wore this knowledge plainly, not as a mark of pride or arrogance, but as simply something that was and could not be changed. Thus, she was perfectly feminine.

I, being smaller, meager, confined to my own skin, was simple flattered that she had picked my modest little bedroom to step into. There's a box in one corner where i have stacked some books that are left to be read, some CDs, a few used pens. On the floor are scattered at random jeans, tshirts, a plastic orange laundry basket half full with pale-faced clothes, wires and cables, shoes shoes shoes. She seemed to edge around all these things, handling the obstacles with grace. She rubbed her hands against the chair in the corner where a grey fleece sweater crouches, ready for use. You call this mess home? she said?
no. __of course not. she seemed relieved. she nodded, rubbed her hand along the open lid of an open suitcase that was propped against the wall. She looked in, mostly empty.

The room was glowing, a perfect sentiment, if I could summarize all I wanted to say into one color, she'd have been it. I sat there silently, hoping no voice from another room would interrupt me. How simple she is, made up of this one color, this one quality she lends to everything else, even me, sitting here, simultaneously held up to her breast. And i?_? made up of phrases and insecurities, and my swollen ankle, and my swollen heart, and my dilated pupils, and my exhausted chest that cramps before bed. My malfunctioning machinery. My throbbing brain.

(I noticed her eye grow a touch darker).
All things she started, but I stopped her, i know __don't... there's no need to say anything. She never asked me what i was doing sitting alone, on the floor, in this hurricane room. She never wondered why i sat still as a mouse. she never bothered to wonder about me; a perfect friend. One of us will have to leave soon she said. I stared back. She smiled. In another sense, we'll both have to leave soon. I nodded. She seemed to understand.

I looked out towards the window, but could not make out glass from frame. The light from my screen was harsh now. I looked around, a brutal sort of darkness. Like having been loved and left. Like having been picked- but proving disappointing.

i sigh.
adjust two pillows against a wall.
when i move my pants rise a little and i can feel the bare carpet against my skin.

perhaps by tomorrow i'll have sunk right the way through.

____(one can only hope