[October 14]

I like to remember the scent of you – like smoke
from a bonfire. I suppose you always were burning.
Unlike myself. I simply flow. I wish I could
be more like water, but I am not as patient,
not as necessary. Patience is for adults.
Logic is for adults too. Even though I can vote
and eat pizza for breakfast and oatmeal for dinner
if I want to, I will not be logical.
I always assume the worst. I sit watching my phone
for hours, tearing myself apart from the outside in
and sewing myself together in the morning. I always
feel silly in the morning, with bruised eyes
and muscles sore from trying so hard
to hold myself together. It’s impossible
for anything to stay together for long. Eventually,
inevitably, the universe turns towards chaos,
and so will we someday, when our time to be ordered
and well-kept is up. I come from a culture
that is not afraid of death, and neither am I,
just afraid of dying. It’s October.
The last quarter of the year. The supermarket
is selling sugar skulls instead of Easter baskets,
the air is almost cool at night, and I still wait,
although I do not know why or for what. In the meantime,
I practice chemistry almost obsessively,
I roast different squashes in the oven (20 minutes, 10 on
each side.)  On weekends I watch for the cat  who lives
outside my apartment, the quiet one
with golden eyes, who stops to watch me from
across the parking lot, then turns, and leaps away,
and is gone.


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