My desktop is set. The only free and open space I can look into appears as I open my chunky laptop. Montana is for us.
I can’t say anything witty, obvious, or anything lovely. As a dear friend recently said, I can only be transparent.
Clear, I shall try to be.
It’s thick, this cellophane, spattered with grease and left-over tomato sauce. It sticks together, doesn’t rinse quite well, and really stinks. Sat too long in the fridge, I suppose.
Noise. The pitter patter of our ceiling fan annoys my skin. I can feel it clang my pink toes and chill my forearms. The buzzing breeze producers white out my being. My blood vibrates whenever a black Cadillac with 20 inch rims rolls by, polluting the cold clang and clack of our 10’ by 10’ room. Bus riders alike yell four letter words to their young and each other as the screeching brakes of the white boulder invades our window.
Paralyzed. I can’t get off the couch to turn on the light. I can’t move. I can’t breath here. Where is the silence? Where are the stars?
Passion. Covered by books, dolce and gabbana, dead music, and fear of waking the neighbor.
Other half. Always trying his hardest. Always seeking. Always asking. Always encouraging. Always my better half.
Time. Dripping out of these pores and onto this dirty carpet. Swinging with each Kleenex that covers the floor. Piercing. Leaving. Gone.
God. The only One who can help me breath, move and speak.
I need more of You.
I need help.
I want Montana.
But You know best.
You say “trust me.”
But It’s so hard when all I have is noise, when all I am is paralyzed, when my passion is gone, when my time is wasting, and when my heart is smothered with bricks.
Help me, please.
