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1.
A day composed of edges
Any day when the laptop is a neighbour with three dark eyes and a civility agenda and you cannot speak to your lover because there is a file always bottomless with responses and memories, all this eaten up and spat out as the hours, always the hours and the hours, the laptop still waiting for more dark informational snacks, and you call your lover instead to apologize, but the electrical wire that runs through your wrist is cold, it squirms and holds still only when you are silent, without the sentence to hold you up you are a chameleon wishing for fewer edges, only time rubs itself against all subjective things and you finally sit alone typing, remembering a sound behind your back, watching the body arc and splay and fight itself across the road as the spirit leaves this day. Hard day.
by Rayhsu Alexleslie April 20, 2010