Audio Recording #3

It isn't true what they say about me. I want things, just like everyone else.

I want, for instance, tremendous changes to have taken place during the night or nothing to have changed at all. I want someone to say to me, "You're overscheduled." Or, "I would never ask this of you." I want to be the person I was before all this happened and the person I will be when all this is over.

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Everywhere you look, people are living their lives out in the open, without shame. Girls with blue lips ride the train standing between the aisles. A man falls asleep on his oversized baggage. Elsewhere, a mother pulls her crying daughter off her bicycle and the helmet falls over the child's face.

Doesn't anyone have anything to hide? I hold my life in my lap and wait. This is nowhere and no one is watching.

When I open up my notebook, I find relics of old, half-finished thoughts. "Erotic despair (Hopper)." "Infatuation is revenge against love." "Brio."

At night, I turn on this tape recorder and listen to conversations from last winter I don't remember having. We're talking about your house keys. I sound so eager. You sound so far away. Was I trying to get you to say something? Why did you misunderstand me? I was listening.

*published in Wigleaf