Proof

There are days when I don't feel.

When time speeds up to a day like today and purposefully slows down to taunt me.

On days like today, I go outside.

I wash my fringe and put oil on the ends of my hair so it doesn’t break .

I draw the outward lines on my eyes with black pencil, lather my lips in red, spray my summer scent and I feel sad.

Tighten the belt around my pants and slip on the shoes that make me taller.

I take a picture of myself.

I see an outline of an empty body with a soul on fire floating around this bungalow.

For days now, I’ve forgotten it’s October.

My car smells like lavender and chamomile and for a second, I forget that I bought the air freshener the day before.

My music is the same as always, even dead, I remain who I am. Lou, Samia, Nico, Patti.

The ride isn’t long, accompanied by the orange and red.

I park and the street is abondanded.

As I approach the cafe, I imagine the door boucing back in its frame , the jerk travelling up my arm and reaching the top of my skull. But it opens, and I enter.

I order an iced black, the AC is still broken.

My life laid upon the desk–my laptop, my keys, my notebook and pen.

If I chose it, I could run away, become the mist in the air, the hum of a fridge, the warmth of July, I have everything I need.

But I don’t and instead, I stay still and seated for two hours.

My attention indecisive, between my laptop screen and the trees in the breeze. It’s fall and it’s raining, my prayer spilling on the lined pages and I feel nothing.

I surrender and get myself back into my car. This time, I vibrate in such silence.

The thought of reentering my bedroom, quiet with walls that speak and cave in to listen in when I whisper in the dark is too unbearable. I decide to go to the library.

On my way in, the morning clerk says goodnight to the evening clerk and she’s coming toward me. I don’t see her eyes. My head is hot and heavy and she might have walked through me. The corner table is empty, so I sit once again, regaining my balance.

The same game again. The rain falling down on the cars and pooling on the ground, the river underneath the bridge, I can taste it, I can feel it, behind this window.

My chest gets hard so I walk around and through my most-read shelves. I look for the ones I’ve read. When I feel like I am nothing more than skin, I look for the bits I’ve left behind in these books. A hot sauce stain, the aggressive corner fold, an oily thumbprint, the page I accidentally ripped. When I’m feeling brave, maybe a note.

Proof of my existence. I’ve been here, I am here, I’ll be here.

I sit back down, my feet now outside my shoes, my heels forcing the back of my shoes into a fold. I feel the carpet. Nico in my ear. My contacts scratching at my eyes. The burn I got at work. The tag of my shirt. It all feels real, I feel real.

I’m here, it’s fall and it’s raining, and I feel all of it.