marshdiver

[marshdiver]

The spring finally came, and I already feel like I take the sun for granted. I let myself sleep in. I look out the window a little less.

It’s the same sun I've spent months chasing — the one that cracked through the sky and pulled me out of the fog on that first blue-sky day, and I almost cried. I used to rise to meet the sun. Now it waits for me, and I barely notice. How long did it take? A week? Two? When did it became the default? The hopeful weight flattened out. It's quiet. Already, the thankfulness slips away. I was aching for it, begging for light, searching for a glimpse in the brief five-minute span at nine AM on a winter weekday. Now, I don’t reach for it. I know it’ll be there. Reliable.

Did the abundance make me ungrateful?

Or is this what it means to feel safe — to stop begging and start believing? Maybe I’m just resting, finally warm.

[marshdiver]

"Are you there?" "I'm here. I really am."

A flickering bulb strains against the dark. We sit beneath it, across from each other. Wall to wall, eye to eye. The light is dying, but we are alive.

I reach for your hand — there’s your warmth, knuckles pressing close. My eyes learn the dark, shape you out of absence, trace you from memory. We doze off. Here, here, here. And I breathe easy, because you are.

Then time forgets itself. The bulb flickers one last time, and I stop seeing at all. But still, I call. "Here."

I stop. Then — an answer, distant. Hollow. A shape without a body. A sound without weight.

I reach again, fingertips searching every inch — but instead of you, only the smooth wall. Was it always that cold?

"Here," I call once more. "Here," I hear, my own voice falling back onto me.

Not you. Not even the shadow of you. Just me.

I let the quiet settle. It has been here far longer than I knew. Maybe I only just noticed the empty space where you used to be. When did you leave? Why didn't you nudge me back awake?

It's time to go home, the hallway's empty. I won't shut the door. The wind will. You know where to find me.

I hope you remember the way.

[marshdiver]

21

There's this buzzing cloud floating all around me. World is waking up, and people didn't ever stop moving. Year after year, I look through the same window, getting ready for changes that seem to never come. The same almost-spring fog embraces me, it nudges me to wake up, I do feel the morning dew and I'm so glad it's not this god-awful hoarfrost again. It's just that I lost my way a long time ago. Tour guide left me on the sidewalk, let me sleep it off for a bit, but it doesn't seem like my peers are coming back to get me. I reach my hand up, but there's no one left to lift me up.

The children across the road are spreading their wings. They're way taller than me now. It's a shame I forgot to get my own pair. Seems like they were giving flying lessons for free, five times a week, but I always overslept. I keep hearing how magical they were. Is there a time for a do-over?

My life is a movie played at zero point five speed. I know it's happening, but halfway through everybody is leaving me behind in the cinema. I lost the plot a long time ago, I so wish to just take a nap. I missed on most of the valuable lines anyway. The beautiful soundtrack is haunting, a damn echo of what-it's-supposed-to-be.

One day I woke up in this waist-deep marsh. We each got two hours to get to the finish line. Somehow, some of us got spawned on a nice stepping stones. They enjoy the scenery, maybe even go for a little run just to feel more breeze. I got stones chained to my ankles, I really try to catch up, but it's so easy to get out of breath.

Deep down, I hope the fog never lifts. I'm too scared the colors will turn to be too bright for me and I'd go blind. Greyscale gives me a haunting sense of comfort. It's just getting too cold, day by day, year by year; I'm growing out of my winter jacket, and there will be a day when I tear it apart from the inside. The seams are starting to pop open along the sleeves already. Will I ever afford a new one? I'm scared that when autumn comes along again, I'll start freezing to death.

[marshdiver]

pleading to a fifteen year old girl

don't run away. run away. you're in a movie and movies end. we leave the cinema, do our own thing. you always wanted to live. when he tells you who he is, believe him. don't get on that bus if he doesn't want you to. it didn't hurt when he drove away. i know you could do it. forget you can do it. go back. there are nights when you scream and cry so loud and run so fast it feels like everything will change from now on. it does. everything changed. nothing changed. bury that memory forever and revisit it every even year you get to live. see yourself from third person perspective and acknowledge you're pretty. then, acknowledge that you are you and you don't feel like who you consider pretty. wear that hat. don't believe i'm here now watching you. forget who you are. you always wanted to be a movie. notice who invited you. don't grow out your hair. grow out your hair and realize you hate it. be fast while you still can. wake up and down that vodka. kick him out. take him back. listen to him. don't hate him for not knowing himself. hate yourself. then stop. write down your ideas. forget your ideas. try two years and three and a half months to remember them. always feel like you almost got it right this time. feel the cold november air and feel like you're stuck in the one am, four degrees outside and there's no train home forever. wake up in your own bed. it's summer. another november's getting close. forget you can make it out. notice you did around may. don't kiss that boy just because he's here. let him kiss you. he left a lasting impression. don't want to not-want ever again. wait for someone to want to. don't stay in school. regret you didn't. obsessively watch over your old class for five years. forget that. you could've feel good all this time. you wouldn't even know you feel good. now you do. demand answers. hibernate. say it out loud.

[marshdiver]

people i know

she's drawing a pair of hands and the nails are like claws, that beautiful and that weary, don't get too close just admire his idea of god is in the sky, my god is sleeping by the fence under the sunlight, my god is in a crisp toast. warm me up they fall asleep in morbid silence and i'm not woken up by the sirens. i long for anything louder than nothing and you plead to close the window he asks what's the time? me, her and this guy on the left ask what is time? what is it really? when? she's not listening, counts days in colors, evening gets purple

you wake up, i'm just falling asleep. he's wide awake since yesterday, the clock keeps ticking she hears the dangling of her bracelets when she raises her hand, I hear the silence in my headphones and merge into a tree. in the winter coats cling too tightly, i can't wait until it's summer, i love the sun and i can't stand the heat. how do you thrive in autumn? she reads and he paints and the other one runs through the streets. i wail and then make myself a cup of coffee. the world is healing

you didn't notice the pattern in my floorboards, i didn't notice the way the wood swirls in your desk i know too much about drums. i think of how skin on my hands moves. i don't care about your interests. tell me more we talk and we hug. it's the best we've felt this month. your music is shit i have an idea on what you laugh at i don't know how you can even fall asleep with only one pillow. can you show me? how do you make your eggs?

[marshdiver]

slipping back to old habits pouring rain i hate being a goo melting away melting in a distraction from being distracted CLOSED DOOR open door let the air in, too cold slip back SAVE SAVE SAVE save as, save every thought and convince me of me, collapse proof of life i was here i was me looking for a proof of life

shattering glass, bad habits, hatred of a good-bad distinction. at home trying to go home, it's a process