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past
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the lack of food tips into the void where my fever burned a few days ago. nothing looks, smells, tastes appetizing and so i sit surrounded by food, in a voluntary but purposeless fast.
she looked at me and questioned the cold, which, truth-be-told, is mostly past. she saw the depths peering out of my eyes, but her concern tumbled into the emptiness, to join my appetite in its endless fall.
this deepness devours, it paralyses. i am forcing myself to write, to slowly climb back into the world. words first, then steps, out into the bracing winter air. maybe ice and snow will wake me.
i wish i could reach a spot where i could hold on to her concern and let it nurture me back into my fullness. instead i find myself staring at it coldly, driving it away without purpose or mercy. now, it's lost and i sit here, stuck fast.
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