15 minutes

At first I was scared. Perhaps,
more anxious than scared, although fear had settled down
in a nice comfortable cottage next door. Both homes on a foundation
of concrete, water, and suspense. Suspense,
nothing more than a separate plane of existence where time
doesn’t feel the same. Suspense,
like things are frozen in place around you, moving only when acknowledged. The first
two days felt like that.
It was a Thursday morning when I decided to let go.
Easier said than done. Forgetting is weird,
it’s the only thing that happens when you stop trying to make it happen.

The first half of the week I had been consumed whole. Swallowed,
life in the belly of the beast: the sheer possibility of the blow to my already fragile frame,
my mind: a beautiful but deeply unsettling structure; the
scaffold-enclosed city sidewalk you drift through unconsciously,
only realizing it’s flimsy assembly when you take the time to look up.
How does it support all that weight?
Who am I to prevent it from collapsing
at the most inopportune time? (When I am underneath it).

My Friday night shift came and went, the start of my long weekend. Three days
to rest my weary bones, my burnt-out brain. So tired from bracing
themselves for what they already know is coming.
Saturday was going to be a day for Me. 5 long nights since
I dropped the illusion of my apathy.
A terrible magician, I suppose I never will live up to that juvenile dream of mine.

No thoughts, just empty brain, guzzling down
the delusional dynamics of, you know,
that-one-movie-with-that-one-guy.
      I’d sigh exasperatedly here if this weren’t written prose.

A day for Me; I washed my sheets! One of the most daunting adulthood duties,
for whatever reason.
Existential, really - we have to change our sheets every so often
      Forever.
            Exasperated sigh.
I washed my hair! A fine feat for a female
so fascinated with the unfaltering ability of my fair locks to stay
clean as a whistle without frequent freshening.  
      Phew.
I made dinner! For the first time all week, my appetite
appeared, asking avidly for some home cooked fare.

Another sigh, as I settled into the plush crease of the evening couch.
I like this movie, I think I’ll watch it now.
Nowhere else to be, no more thoughts to be had. Just
the pretty woman on the tv.
The final release.
So innocently ready, in this moment here. Checking my phone
just for the time - should I make tea?

I didn’t want you to leave me in such a beautifully tragic way,
the instant my brain had filled with complete vacancy.
      The first time all week, I could
      pad myself before the sidewalk scaffolding collapsed, I could
      sink into the fresh, soft sheets and cradle myself until dawn.
      You’ll never know how idyllic, though I know what you’d say,
      “But see, that’s the beauty of it.”
Because that’s all we’ve ever been, a beautiful tragedy.
 

I tried to extend a moment that was already in the past. I saw your message
fifteen minutes after you sent it. Fifteen minutes I lived in a world
that was different from yours. For fifteen minutes I lived in the past
with you. Reading and rereading and rereading again before even taking another breath I
didn’t notice I was reading with the hunger of
a girl forced to starve all week by her nauseating notions surrounding this moment exactly. I thought
if I kept reading it for the first time, the first time I’m reading it will never end; I could
just keep reading over and over, I could savor
the fleeting moments of the past life, my
past life, that had you in it, never getting to the last period you punctuated, the final
nail in our coffin. Please wait,
just one more second please, I’m not
ready yet.
      But it was already done, fifteen minutes ago, I just hadn’t known.