The Middle of March

It has been tough to ignore the water. Your socks are wet. And the bottom of your pants. But you push past it. It beads on your forehead. The pads on your fingertips shrivel and pull away. You can smell it.

That's what bothers you.

The scent is everywhere. When your eyes are covered you can feel it draining out. When you're dry it's still in your nostrils. It's been there for years. It's been there forever.

One step at a time

Your attention is divided. I can tell. You stammer over a few simple things you used to always say. You grab your own face and rub your eyes clean of sleep.

But you didn't sleep much last night. The window was open and you could hear the new curtain. It is lighter than you expected. It only bothered you enough.

Lately your dreams revolve around this old three bedroom house. It has a different yard then you remember. But that is all that changed. And the furniture. There is more of it. And it doesn't fit together. People who never went there are standing in the kitchen. They are talking to strangers. Strangers to each other. But not to you. And they are saying a lot of nothing.

I guess not much has changed.