X is for Xeno...

I am not sure where I have gone. These last few days I make choices, turn down streets, pull my wallet out, or stare into a mirror and it is like watching a bad play. My movements are stiff, the dialogue is disjointed and unnatural, and there are new participants every scene. It is strange, awkward at least, painful at best.

That fall really took it out of me. It was forced detox, cold turkey. That routine is gone now. That habit doesn't fit into my daily routine.

But it was always anything but routine.

A goodnight kiss between beers at a bar down the street.
A couch cuddle session on a thirty minute break.
A sunrise through a window when least expected.
A declaration of desire in a tent in a yard.
A long walk with no map or sidewalks.
A poem.
A look.
A word.

No routine.

The silence that has taken the place of that is overwhelming. All my thoughts are as sharp as a pin dropping into my skin. My breaths are hard and deliberate, no longer my body remembering to stay alive. My words are strewn everywhere, left to rot, be crushed, be lost, and be forgotten on front yards, in alleys, on stall walls and on the ceiling of my bedroom.

A stranger walks the hall, drives my car, makes my money, and writes this.

These words don't look right either.

24/26