Happy New Year

New Year's and
each year
I wanna be caught up
in your arms

not
your

shadow.

Sent

Sending things always make me anxious
I sent
a picture
a word
a message
a story
a moment
a feeling

and now

I am waiting
for a reply
for silence
for nothing

and I
don't know if I
fear want the silence
or the answer more.

Word(ling)s

  I sometimes make an effort to try and write again. Not any kind of serious thing, just write towards no particular end, without a mapped out way or even reason, small, poor attempts to get back that stream of consciousness. In my mind I am always writing, translating every moment, gesture, emotion into letters that form words, only to exist momentarily, long enough to be formed and then immediately erased, never reaching a paper surface.
  Maybe that explains my relationship with the world. Maybe that is exactly why I always feel so disassociated from the present. Because I am not present. I am writing, or directing, or watching but rarely acting. I managed to grow a bit large for own shell but then I shrank back again and later grew immobile and cold.

*

  Except it's not cold. It is, in fact, so suddenly hot, so overwhelmingly hot, scorching the shreds of me, it sometimes feels like the body is

wrecked

  from tidal waves on the inside.

*

*

I only realised just now
There are days
When I don't think about you anymore.

And it's been
years.