The phone dings while I am still deep in sleep, still deep in misremembering my circumstances, it's hard to gauge whether this creak in my bones was always here or if I am dying, but of course we are always dying, that's not this pandemic's doing. Lab results are in to tell me it's all in my head, I wander the apartment in a daze for a few hours before falling asleep limbs akimbo in a chair. When I wake, the air is clearer, and the lesson is this: what a mess we let our heads make of our lives. He tells me of the ghosts in his closet, and I try to weigh them against a feather and see if the ice will hold to step on.
I've misread ice, before, you know, and I still feel the cold if I am not careful.
Still wonder if I made it out without drowning, at all.
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