Is it really June?
Is it really almost the end of June?
Is 2017 almost over?
I teeter on this fine line and peer over the edge.
Here I am and there I am going.
Here I am…and there I am going.
The hem of this jacket is trapped in the door. This shoe is caught under yours. I’m fumbling with zips that won’t budge. Feel my arms bound in cloth.
But it’s not me. I shed what cannot move and cannot change and I disappear.