Things Are Heavier When Damp

There is a movement, a shifting of days and a collapsing of hours. The trees’ branches pull the sap back to the core and leaves lacking nutrients turn rusty red and fall to the ground. Their decomposition lets off a sweet smell, the soil moist beneath our feet.

I want to lose something and be indifferent to its loss.

I went on a walk by myself so I could imagine you at my side. Every step felt like a quake and crumbled the structure of my legs, weakened the strength of my mind and I knew they’d find me somewhere, only a pile a rubble.

I wish there were stars to stare up at but it’s been overcast for days. And maybe we don’t pay homage to our birthplace near enough. The little dipper hides out on my right forearm but the rest of my constellations are yet to be mapped. No celebrations, no sacrifices, empty temple bowls, unattended idols. A pile of rubble.

I went for a walk and it was cold.