Getting offered a fair hourly wage for something I was doing for free right when I was starting to feel under-appreciated and money-stressed =
Like how once someone told me that when you get that random ringing in your ears it is actually the last time you are ever going to hear that particular pitch—how it is that sound leaving you. I don’t remember who told me that, but I got older and found it wasn’t true. The times when my ears ring still feel like dark and spacious vacuums. These times you will still find me at my quietest, trying to relish and memorize, trying to fight the strangest twinge of loneliness, of anticipated missing. Inevitably trying ignore the counting up of every sound that’s left me, of trains of thought that leave me wondering if I could even recognize a thing once it is truly gone.
Made up of what the world forgave me for being when I had asked no forgiveness
And in the beginning, there was detox. We were what was thrown from the lungs of nothingness as it sputtered and shook in the night, as it found a fresh start—as it found goodness again, apart from us.
100% and then some.
She said that you should bottle up the parts of her you need, that she was leaving. She talked about funerary vessels and the carrying of spirits, made a cup with her two hands, spit into them and said
"Preserve me in this."
When there were no takers she untangled her fingers and wiped them clean on her shorts, saying that we needed more gods, more ancestors; that we were getting terrible and selfish with our memories.
"You could have had me for a thousand years-
-I could have lasted for a thousand years.”
There were dark places on the denim where her palms had been, but they would dry quickly, she said.