sitting outside watching the rain under sodium lighting and reflecting on the fact that everything i wanted a year or two ago is now impossible and that's okay

even the cars are sicker now; i hear them sobbing up the hill every day, howling down the pavement, sometimes crashing like awful music. nothing and no one's received much work since march

all the urban music here is sharper and less kind this year. the trees are happy, and the weeds, but the air has been full of bombs, screams, gunfire, sirens, and the ever-recurrent chorus of rotary wings

one simply disappears after months of listening to bombs large enough to break metal, brisant enough to shred off entire limbs or cave in sternums, especially when they move around you invisibly wherever you walk. a common enough experience for an urban girl this year, i suppose

it's hard to decide, once one's learned to disappear, and walk through the sort of pain that'd make your past self faint on the couch, what to come back for. clearly more of it is noise than ever, but it's also too important to ignore in full. the world wonders; the mind races

there aren't any facts or material philosophies which help one live through torture and genocide. it's just gotta come from somewhere deeper and higher, whatever that means. most of the work is showing up and remembering, the rest is forgetting until you're ready.