it’s like that feeling you get when the room is swirling with commotion. the lights are focused in small corners of the room, but the overhead is dim where you can only make out the outlines of people’s faces. you get that nagging sensation like it’s all about to end, or when you’re stepping into the shower and you stare at the water pouring down the tiles, watching it all wash away down the drain.
you wonder, how did i end up here? and when can i go back to the beginning? it’s that feeling when everyone is smiling or clapping; there is only one level of noise and it sounds like a mix between a sold out movie theater or the news channel turned on in the background.
i stop and stare at the floor, then i look up at the ceiling, and it’s all the same. everywhere i go, it’s all the same. i can feel a warm wave wash over me. it starts at my temples, and ends at the tips of my fingers and knees. i’m not sure if i want to run or if i want to lie down and close my eyes. i’m sure no one would even see me. and if they did, i want a hand to reach down and pick me up and take me away.
take me somewhere, like your kitchen. i can recognize objects that are familiar, like that coffee pot on your counter, the twin to the one i had in our house in germany, or the yellowing of the magazines strewn about on the counter. like they’ve been waiting all this time to be opened, weathered with age, never by being read.
i can sink into the belly of your couch; wrap me in blankets that smell like a trip i took ten years ago. pull back my hair, and remind me why i can wake up for tomorrow.
