lapoeziodeteo

[lapoeziodeteo]

The mirror shows me the face of someone not quite me.

Over the course of the couple of weeks I’ve accrued a patchy, unkempt stubble. I didn’t used to mind shaving, it was part of my daily routine.

I suppose that’s why it feels odd to me now.

The morning my loop began I was clean shaven. I was clean shaven for the majority of my life after that. I don’t know how long. Stop asking me how long. Please

And then a couple of weeks ago the date changed from December 31st to January 1st for the first time in too long. A perversion of time. A horrid shift that plucked me from my stagnation and thrust life upon me.

I didn’t need to talk to people. They always said what I knew they’d say. Always did what I knew they would. Every day started at 8:52 and ended with fireworks but before everyone celebrated. A mocking countdown of what I accepted I would never experience.

Nobody believes me. I don’t blame them.

They sympathise but even that is a twisted imitation of how I know them to act. You don’t visit me out of the blue. You didn’t for years and years and years and years and years and now you come to my door and say words that feel foreign to my ears because you’ve never said those words in that order and I block it out because that’s the only thing I’m still good at doing.

You say we’ve only been friends for around 6 months. I know this is a lie but you are telling what you know to be true. I can’t blame you.

All they can figure out is that something is wrong with me. That I’m the one that something has happened to. Not one of them considers that to me they are what has changed. Moved from my familiar life into this… speculation.

One of them gave me a houseplant. They’re trying to help. Houseplants are supposed to keep you occupied for a little while. A request that you do the bare minimum for something other than yourself. To remind you that your bare minimum is worth giving.

Remembering to water it is easy to me. I’ve lived the same day again and again and again and.

What’s worse to me is seeing it every morning. In a spot it was yesterday but… It’s not the same plant. It’s different. Imperceptibly its tiny fragile branches reach in slightly different directions. That leaf is wilting. The spot wasn’t there yesterday. Was it always this tall?

I know it is in its nature to change. To grow. But it isn’t in my nature anymore.

My stubble disagrees.

I don’t remember how to shave.

[lapoeziodeteo]

The sounds and smells of rain reach me. From under my shell and under the leaves I emerge. It is dark and wet and miserable and that means I am Safe. Safe to explore, safe to find something worth eating.

The plants here are good for hiding, good for sleeping, not good for eating. Too tough, too thin. Close by there are different leaves, bigger and juicier. But I have had my fill.

I see stars appear above me, small dots much closer than I’m used to. It would take me less than an hour to reach them, which is less time than the usual stars I think.

A bridge of rock stretches high to the sky, guiding me. It feels strange against my foot. Porous, rough. Easy to climb.

The night is quiet. The occasional raindrop hits my shell but they are small and infrequent now. Soon I will have to hide again.

The stars are closer now. I find a ledge I can see them from. It’s nice up here. There are plants… but they smell off. These are not worth eating.

A shape moves, gargantuan and impossibly fast. It approaches. If it wished me harm I would be dead before I had even seen it, so I know I am at least partially safe.

I smell a new plant, dried and long dead a leaf is now ahead of me. I approach cautiously, there is not much interesting about it. The leave vibrates I see the figures hand on it, holding it while I smell.

I step over the leaf, I am not hungry and it would not be tasty and I do not care for it and the stars are so close.

As I am over the leaf it shifts again. Pulling upwards. I try and return to my ledge but the figure has more strength than even a thousand snails, more than even the biggest bird.

I am hoisted upwards at alarming speeds. I’ve never travelled this fast before. My only support from this leave and the figure. I try and look around. The stars! Less than a metre away! They look so-

A torrent of movement rips my from my thoughts. This, this is now the fastest I have ever moved and it makes my previous record feel like I wasn’t even moving at all.

The world passes at incredible speeds, the stars darting away.

When I have the courage to emerge from my shell I see. I am back where I started. Back in the leaves and the smells I am used to. At least now the climb back was quicker. At least now I am back, hidden, safe.

[lapoeziodeteo]

The words to describe my relationship to the rain are difficult to summarise, but I’ll try to keep it brief.

There was a storm overhead today. An evening bout of thunder and a cascade of large, heavy raindrops cutting through the heavy air to the road below, blanketing the asphalt of the road ahead of me as it tried in vain to cool it down from the sun now hidden.

It was loud. I am aware thunder can be frightening to some, my dog would agree, but to me it is no scarier than hearing a bird call through a silent night. A reminder that the world happens even when we’re not searching for it.

The smell was immediate, petrichor rushing to my room the moment the window opened. I reach out my hand, wishing to pet the untameable beast of weather that has visited me. It recoils at my touch, my awning and the wind working together to keep that sacred liquid just out of my reach.

I stay still, no sudden movements, and keep my hand outstretched in front of me. A flash of lightning lets me know I am perceived by something far greater.

Slowly the wind shifts to my direction, catching my scent. A raindrop lands in my hand, then another and another until the water gently touches my forehead, an animal gently kissing the forehead of the young.

Something changes. Not something I have done but she has seen something, heard something. I do not take it personally when just as quickly the winds recede, the rain subsiding. I would be quite greedy to demand the full attention of the storm itself, but it was nice to spend time with it when I was allowed.

And so I am left, one hand outstretched to an absent sky. A silent prayer, a plea to return soon. But the weather is not mine to command, nor should it be, for wild animals should be allowed to be wild.

[lapoeziodeteo]

Would be nice if I could distill my current experience with others just… directly into their heads.

My visual art skills leave too much to be desired to even attempt to draw this and it feels like it would be a disservice to attempt to put this into words.

I may try anyway but it probably won’t make it out of my drafts. Just know I’m chilling right now 👍