love & sex


By November 19, 2012 No Comments

Stacy Keck Four hours.
Robotic movements.
Brain at base level.

Clean surfaces, open boxes, cut bubble wrap, wipe down drawer/cabinet/shelf, place meaningless objects in a place, move them someplace different, load dishwasher, wrench faucet accessory into half-assed place, pile up cardboard, scrape pans, stop up bloody nose, take warm bath, try to masturbate, stop, get out, dry feet, cancel plans with friends, put heavy box on high shelf, take out trash, light candles, look at medical bill, eat cereal, sit in the semi-dark and realize that my life is really

Nothing means anything very strongly anymore.
I looked pretty for you.
I told jokes and was silly for you.
I cooked because you liked it.
I listened because you needed me.
I rode bikes because it was your favorite thing.

Now I buy spatulas and televisions and pepper mills and duvet covers and bath mats and vacuums and Drano and I just keep moving myself through each minute of each day wondering why I’m doing any of it at all.

It’s just me in this box doing meaningless things. Floating. Needing a hug. Sad because of the silence. Even when we were quiet together, it wasn’t silent. I could hear you being alive and the way you existed made noise that I could feel and hear.

It was so good to walk with you last night and cry and hug and laugh and talk. The best 45 minutes of my last 3 weeks of existence. Peaceful, heard, recognized, validated, loved, touched, you