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unhinged
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once a long time ago i was sitting in front of the door waiting for it to open and it never opened. but on the other side was someone that resembled me in almost every way except that she was happy. and i waited and waited for the door to open all by itself. i sat in the corner on a wooden chair with a woven seat. hoping that if i sat there and thought about happiness enough the door would just jump open and i would climb inside the person that i resembled except that she was happy. that the way i was on the other side of the door would melt into this stranger's far subconcious like heated butter or collided sweat. that i could live far in the back corners of her happy brain, observing, without ever interrupting her of course uninterrupted joyful life.
and then one day a baby came. hidden in bushels of red hair, coaxed out of her warm comfortable watery home with plenty of drugs. and that little baby opened the door i was placidly waiting behind. i've not quite melted into this stranger that resembles me...i think i have interrupted something in her. holding babies have a way of stopping one's heart.
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020107
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