Ordering the days

November 26, 2015

Saturday night, I slept, woke, slept, woke, slept and woke again.

Sunday afternoon, I sat across a good friend and confessed I didn’t like her fiance.

Sunday night, I decided to postpone my flight to France.

Monday, I played netball for the second night in a row.

Tuesday afternoon, I patted a shoulder and said hi.

Tuesday night, someone asked for my five year plan.

Wednesday afternoon, I questioned someone else’s engagement. He said John, with his super patience and super calmness, was a divinely super complement to me, but that he wasn’t sure about his. (People generally make that remark about John; I wonder how I’m an asset to him; no one says; I wonder what that says.)

Wednesday night, I was asked if I get lonely, for the second time that day by as many people.

I don’t.

I don’t get lonely this time.

I wonder what that says.


Perhaps I have been a fool

November 22, 2015

For stressing out, frantically seeking homes. For counting weeks, believing every, I don’t know, total of 15 hours was définitive and très, très important beaucoup.

Now I dont know

They’re still important, every additionnel hour with him is. But I used to understand each hour as a marker on the board, a certain increase in the ‘us’. I still like certainty, but am unsure what I can be certain of. My head is heavy from bad sleep and tears.

Part of me feels deceived by myself. I had been confident that the only item between myself and flight was accommodation, that conviction was sufficient for the rest. Now I have accommodation and little conviction ;  how do I work my équation ?

I find in me, then, a willingness to go, but facing the uncomfortable thought that perhaps I’ve been wrong, all along.

November 19, 2015

If God asked you for one rose, wouldn’t you want to give Him ten ?
I’m sorry for my heart, I think the sin will never end.

November 13, 2015

Sitting on the bus stop bench
Twilight falling
Little lady nearby
Earbuds plugged in
Treating me to a performance
Telling me

I’d like to take you to green picnic fields
Falling sunshine where clouds smile
The skies aching blue and I am with you
The wind blows

I want you to take me to green picnic fields
Falling sunshine where clouds smile
The skies aching blue and I am with you
The wind blows


Deux weeks a demain

November 9, 2015

Peut-être la langue nous étudie leaks out from us
I mix and fait my own

J’ai nothing but a vague sensé of discontent
Mistakes and missteps adding up
I am misplaced and there is nothing to be done about it ;
A semicolon too far from my consonant.

Je veux
Me connaître
Quelle quand où

Mon jour est undone
Je ne aime pas ____.

November 4, 2015

Some friends have mooted the idea of my writing a book
One says i may as well milk the misery,
The other wants mention in the acknowledgement page.
I don’t have much to say though.

Each morning the door slams behind me and the gate clangs
The approach to the bus stop seems promising and full of hope
I think maybe sunlight falls happier there

In class my french professeur et anglais classmate trade racist remarks and insults offhand like they’ve been doing for centuaries.
I don’t know how exactly to spell centuries.

Two in the afternoon has become meaningful because that’s the time i think you wake up. I try to work out the heurs,
Midnight for me, 7a.m. when you sleep at yours, 1400hrs when you ostensibly wake. Of course, reality is often different- last night you only returned to your room at midnight, gave half an hour to me, woke at 1330 my time. We roll on. I could talk with you for hours. I like it when you’re chatty.

At nights i wander from kitchen to hall and each room, configuring which windows should be opened, and quand. I examine the leaves of my succulents; i turn off the lights.

I keep other images in my mind; blocks of concrete, for example.

There really isn’t much to tell about my days.
Aventure is unromantic.
I could do with you back beside me.

Every morning, i battle peak hour commute,
Body upon body and i do not fear falling when the train jerks
I hold bag, french book one and livre français deux
I take the greatest care with my takeaway cup of tea
Sometimes it arrives in class breathless and spilled in carrier
I often bring your sweater along
Drapped over

Your shoes are in the doorway and it feels companionable
You left one shirt behind;
I hung it up on the hooks next to my stuff
This list feels incomplete
Life goes on

I’m wearing your pyjamas tonight.