march marches on

i can't believe when i look at certain pictures that they were taken two years ago. i try to push the endpoints together like a squeezebox, compressing the accordion-like timeline, racing past faces that take on funhouse mirror form. remembering the temperature of certain days. spilled coffee. time killers. old movies in dank theaters. waiting. wanting. resisting. relenting. nightlight ghosts and shadows on the rumpled folds of sweaty sheets. patient wakefulness in an effort to stop time. like when maybe i used to believe that if you stayed awake all the way through, dawn would never come. pretending to have projects in separate rooms. being sensible and making excuses. cloudy. windy. grey. bare shoulders. steep slopes.

i can see my blank expression, and i know exactly what i meant.

april. come it will.