she says “why don’t you sit with me. would you like me to call your mom?”

i don’t remember if i am crying or not

then i am holding my mom’s hand as we walk across black asphalt

my shirt is a comfortable faded green hand-me-down

the weather seems fine because the weather is always fine

***

i became a bit confused during the year following the death of my neighbor’s cat

there was this vague and permanent yearning for some abstract emptiness

which manifested in a cold indifference on the tips of my fingers

i sometimes touched the sticky dust on the backside of my refrigerator

and felt guilty in a detached sort of way, about nothing in particular

i intentionally hit my elbow on the corners of tables

and sensed something barely conscious in the wood grain furniture

with a ball point pen, i circled a scar on the base of my left thumb

***

the necessary emotions for maintaining consciousness

and an inability to experience phenomena first-hand

***

for example: it was christmas day and i wrapped my arms around you from behind

i was sitting cross-legged in the middle of my bed

you were looking down at the floor or at your phone

i perceived you from the perspective of a parallel universe

and your face was infinitely huge

***

i didn’t mind the sex and the car rides

the silent apologies for an inability to create something tangible with our mouths

i slept so well those nights