A monday morning mire

July 13, 2008

I remember the sound of shovels biting into the ground. A tinny ring cut short before it starts. I remember the dull, muffled sound of the dirt tossed down. I remember my new womb, cool and brittle. It took me some years to make sense of it. When I left my mothers body, I was sealed into a clay jar and buried in the earth.

Somehow, twenty five years later, here I am in the midst of living a life. A miracle.

I have had pets, friends, and girlfriends. I have a family. I have been told that there is a god and there is a devil and that there are angels and demons. Many of those entities that I can see have told me they love me, and a few have assured me that some of the ones I cannot see love me too. I am a man who wakes at night, unconvinced. I hold my knees to my chest, wrapping my arms around them and grasping my elbows. Feeling close to someone that protects me. Close to someone that loves me.

Tags for this piece: depression strange friends relatiosnhips love

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