everything else: reflecting
dear internet,
they leave mirrors on my street corners, and walking to the drugstore or from the supermarket i catch splintered glimpses of myself. on a voice note to a friend i say, “i feel outside of my life,” which is true but not always. the thrushes have begun to sing, and when i emerge from work the sky is a cloudy purple, like dry ice and theatre lights. my neighbours throw parties, we clean the grooves of our oven with toothpicks, i drop a vase and it shatters. it feels as if it was only just a different february, as if i am only just embarking on things that are, in truth, in the midst of their ending. still i buy the discounted tulips, i leave my windows open to the laughter and the rain and the saturday nights, i try to move from the fear of uncertainty into the pleasure of surprise.
love,
t