2008-06-11
the death in a comma
abby's duvet cover is riddled with apostrophes. i'm pretty sure it's a paisley print, but all i see is punctuation. comma, quotation mark.
i'm underneath it, in the softness of the bed, and i feel numb. my mouth is firm, and it reminds me of that meditation seminar i went to where the woman kept reminding me to relax my jaw. but it's locked in tight, and i feel slightly nauseous, but also like there's a void where any nausea could possibly exist.
i'm trying not to think too deeply, so as not to scrape against some bottom, if that makes any sense. i'd rather mindlessly watch the pattern of the shadow of the fan flickering across the ceiling, lightdarklightdark, let my jaw go some. loosen some grip on myself, sink into the comma-filled sheets, not dwell on my own ellipses.
the comma is the turning point in what you said, the sharp pivot that marked the pause that started the beginning that marked the end. i saw it coming, then i heard it coming, and the silent empty pause of a comma was somehow very filled. and then it was over, and now it is done.
i will release my jaw some more, watch the lightdarklightdark, breathe deep think shallow. i will grow over time to let go of it. a cheesy grammarian may remind me that every period marks not only the end of one sentence, but the beginning of a new one as well. and they'll be right, and the jarring effects of this one comma, the swift turn around a corner, will subside. next sentence, please.
leesah-likes at 9:17 p.m.