oct. 12th

I’m watching life in stop motion, I don’t know what it means though. Not everything needs carving to its bare meaning, but life and words plead at me to be dissected. I tried not to give in and failed. Something changed or broke, maybe derailed, when I got here, but something tells me it was already broken, masked by everyday life. I see myself fading in retrospect. I watch her disappear, without fear. Exhaustion settles me.
I only feel out of place because I watch them feel. Agitated, movement comes naturally for them, no need to tear themselves from every chair in every corner. It feels better though, sitting here with my journal and my pen, watching liveliness like a bird, flying all around me. The writer, the ghost, it’s better than the nothingness I settle for whilst sinking in the bed. At least, this way, I can feel myself within me, keeping me company. There’s something homely in disappearing, for me. I wish I could talk and laugh, and hand out ideas like gestures to the living. I’m being what I can.