|
a space for youth writing on mental health & identity
|
|
a space for youth writing on mental health & identity
|
![]() 1. Interlude Funny the things you remember when it doesn’t matter anymore: the lightness of trees, the wind rustling, throwing back the ghost-curtains of my room with eyes looking in, all alight in orange while the sky fades out. 2. Returning
On the highway, the chasm of distance collapses into a plane, determined by just two lines: that guiding dashed yellow-for-caution under our tires and the furthering horizon, perpendicular. Each turn, memory blending more and more into mundanity, each moment materializing into something easily broken, easily lost. I track our journey in every constant ephemeral thing-- the number of McDonald’s we pass, the darkening pallor of the sky, every heartbeat on the tug-of-war tightrope, long road between places I am afraid to call home. 3. Arriving At a standstill, I spent so long that day staring at the sky. Thought: if I could follow it to that intersection of cement & horizon I could pluck forever out of the flaming air, hold its heartbeat in the palm of my hand. 4. Leaving Streaks of spotlights, headlamps, signals in delirious hues illuminate a new scene. Ahead are only alien houses, though my bones know these roads with a phantom ache. Comments are closed.
|
Categories
All
* = Editors' Choice work
Unless otherwise noted, all pictures used are open-source images in the public domain. Archives
September 2023
|