But I'm not crazy, I'm just a little unwell
I know, right now you can't tell
But stay a while and maybe then you'll see
A different side of me
I'm not crazy, I'm just a little impaired
I know, right now you don't care
But soon enough you're gonna think of me
And how I used to be
--Matchbox 20, Unwell
She watched the hands of the clock move.
Your heart is like pillows
that I divide
and sleep under lavender covers
where I never dreamed
because you were my sleep
and I knew I could never be born
because the stardust was you
and the emptiness you filled
was the universe
Time passed since she turned off the television. All six hundred digital channels. And the book mark fell from the book when she set it down. But she didn't pick it up. She couldn't remember the name of the main character. Or why she chose the two books beneath.
The slickness of her thumb wetted trails on the cell phone. The time on the little digital screen didn't match the clock on the wall. The cell phone ran fast.
Not fast enough.
But I'm a child of the night
and always have been
and there's no afternoon reverie
the night sky is black with the wings of ravens
and I can't talk to you
because you fed me to them
but I stitched their wings myself
and set them to flight
and as much as they eat
it only gives birth
to more soiled pieces
She opened the phone.
Dialed because she would not save the number in her contacts.
But she did not press send. Her heart beat, and she breathed like falling down stairs.
No matter how much she wanted to cry, the tears only laughed and pulled away.
Why can't I just ask you?
Why can't I just tell you?
But I can't tell anyone, can I?
I tried to talk the ravens down
but I can't pet them into doves
they just bite my hands
and my fingers become spider webs
sticking to the thorns
so I can't shake them away
She tried to dial again.
But stopped and tossed the phone.
She jumped back into the six hundred digital channels and pretended she didn't know the phone was still on. Waiting.