sombre

cyclamen eulogies

3:45 PM — monday november 8th

it was raining, or maybe it wasn’t. maybe it was just the sound of the wind against the windows, the way it always does, whispering, telling me things i can’t quite hear. i remember the drops though, the way they streaked down the glass, slow, like tears. i watched them for hours, or maybe it was minutes. time slips away from me, sometimes. it feels thick, like honey, sticking to my skin, slowing everything down. but other times it’s too fast. everything blurs. i blink and it’s night, then day again, like i’m missing pieces.

i don’t know what i did today. i went somewhere. i know that. i was wearing that red coat, or maybe the blue one. the one with the tear in the sleeve. i went to the market. i think i bought bread. i can taste it, that soft sweetness, but maybe i’m remembering another day. it’s hard to keep them separate, you know? they bleed together. like watercolors on wet paper, all the edges blur until there’s no shape, no form, just color. i think i spoke to someone there. or maybe i didn’t. their face is in my head, but when i try to see it clearly, it fades. a ghost, maybe.

there was something important today. something i was supposed to remember. something i was supposed to do. but it’s gone now, lost somewhere in the fog that always hovers around me. i reach for it, but it slips through my fingers like smoke. my head aches from trying to hold onto things. maybe i’ll find it later. maybe it will come back to me, suddenly, like a flash of light in the dark. or maybe it never happened at all.

my hands are cold. have they always been this cold? i can’t remember when they weren’t. they feel like someone else’s hands. i wonder if i’ve always been this way. drifting. lost. like my thoughts are just shadows passing through me, not really mine. i think i used to be someone different. but when i try to remember who, it’s like staring into water. it moves, it shifts. i can’t see clearly. it’s all ripples and reflections, nothing solid to hold onto.

maybe tomorrow will be different. maybe tomorrow i’ll wake up and everything will be sharp, clear, like the first breath of winter air. but maybe i won’t. maybe tomorrow will blur into today, and yesterday, until it’s all just one long, endless moment.

but i’m here. i think.