Saturday, December 10, 2011


"Articulacy of fingers, the language of the deaf and dumb, signing on the body body longing. Who taught you to write in blood on my back? Who taught you to use your hands as branding irons? You have scored your name into my shoulders, referenced me with your mark. The pads of your fingers have become printing blocks, you tap a message on to my skin, tap meaning into my body. Your Morse code interferes with my heart beat. I had a steady heart before I met you, I relied upon it, it had seen active service and grown strong. Now you alter its pace with your own rhythm, you play upon me, drumming me taut."
― Jeanette Winterson, Written on the Body

The very thought of you leaving is what I've been trying to push to the back of my mind. Sometimes it floats to the surface hinting at the shipwreck below. I refuse to acknowledge it. I suppress it. I trivialize it. I know that once I recognize it, it's gonna hurt so I hide it in this stupid little cup of mine, and today when it finally struck me that you'll be leaving in 3 weeks (25 days to be exact), I overflow and I overflow and I overflow. 1 year is a terribly long time.

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