From the Sidewalk

The room becomes piles of bags, empty shelves. It looks like a move. My roommate sniffs around the space nervous, wonders what I'm playing at. Would that I knew. There's a relief in packing, but leaving is wrought with fear. I fell asleep today on the express train in Queens; awoke with a start at Roosevelt Ave and for a moment didn't know anything, didn't feel anything, strange dreams lingered and wouldn't say if they were real life after all. Sometimes I think I make life harder than it needs to be. A small child ran into my arms today, laughing; we snuggled over books and she's never known life without me, I threw away the first piece of furniture I ever bought in this city and I don't know, somehow my restless soul began to commit to something, decided not to run so much. All this I was trying to tell you, but autumn wraps its cold spindly fingers around my throat, I'm so tired I fall asleep on strangers, I'm so weak my screams get caught in my throat and sound like butterfly whispers, perhaps this is the dream
what
a
nightmare.