I am looking for recourse, a hand outstretched in the middle of the night.

Maybe in the middle of the morning, when the light is shining low and the old moods hit “I’ll be fine I’ll be fine I’ll be fine.”

In the old quiet of the middle of the day the snow has been falling for three straight days and I wonder if it will reach this place and coat me in a sheet of white so that I disappear and blend in with everything around me.

I am in stark colour. Painful bright red, glowing in the darkness and standing out from the crown because I give off heat and light and i melt the snow when I walk through the city but all I want is to be frozen.

Frozen in time and space and love and life, to hold onto something when it’s at its most beautiful and not turn it into ashes from holding on so tight with my bright hot hands.

Tell me the world will stop spinning while we lay in bed and I’m shackled to notions of old and new and if I’m being honest I’m thinking about you.

I’m thinking about the way you used to lie right in that spot.

I’m thinking about the things we used to do here, and the old breath that still hangs in this room and the way it would feel in the morning when there was a hand to reach out to.

I have been told that I am in love with the love of the dark and the broken, perhaps this is the truth.

Maybe it has nothing to do with you, or with him, or with anyone. Maybe I’m just in love with the middle of the night.

It has been thirty days since my last confession.



A Short Conversation is a collection of stories, thoughts, and general musing. I like to write like I'm slamming a door; loudly, and with purpose.

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