I'm not okay.

We leave something of ourselves behind when we leave a place, we stay there, even though we go away. And there are things in us that we can find again only by going back there.

— Pascal Mercier, Night Train to Lisbon.

————————

And so I thought I had woken up.

I'd washed my face 

and brushed my teeth.

Ate my breakfast,

cleaned up after.

Gave my dog a pat

while – beside her – I sat.

I heard a noise from the yellow room.

 What was the yellow room doing here?

 Deciding to step up and investigate,

I stepped in and stepped into the room. 

It was filled with a strange smell,

like a gypsy had lit incense sticks

and grew basil plants all over the room.

 

Decorated with streamers all over the place,

throw pillows and blankets all over the floor,

was it a party going on here?

But why are yellow snakes creeping up 

from hidden spots beneath the blankets?

I screamed.

And then,

I can't remember how

the next few hours passed.

I feel tired

I think I should 

just go back to sleep.

I make my way upstairs

because alone time seems 

to be a better treat

than to go out under the sun

or wait for it to set.

Oh, hasn't it already set?

As I finally reach the top of the stairs,

I found it strange that 

my room door was shut.

when before I left,

I left it ajar. 

Gently, I pushed the door open

and all joy melted off my face.

I couldn't move at all

because I saw myself in bed.

There I was,

lying in bed

suffocated in my own breath

finally meeting death.

————

Dreaming of Christmas

Winter would be chill

Thinking of a cold candy cane

Oh, how that would feel

————————

 M.

 With the distance that's been growing.

I'm not okay,

I love you never show it.