plans.

i had things to do today. i had plans for today. and now, i'm sitting here on the steps that lead up to an empty house, ashing onto the steps leading into where i sleep, my heart pumping quidkly, reverberating rhythms through my chest, out my cheeks. my left shoulder is so tight, i can feel the blood pushing, struggling to pass through, and i'm taken back to winters in michigan, driving through piles of snow, trying to get somewhere, anywhere, my little red escort will take me. the radio has been gone for as long as it's been mine, so it is silent except for my choppy breathig, the shallow inhalations of concentration, the pushing of air out of my lungs. my heart beating. i am trembling with nerves and anticipation. my trembling is the only betrayal of my fear, and if you look closely, you can see me, dressed in my fear. but i am so good of hiding that most people don't notice. my makeup is more convincing than the sorority girl i don't want to be, if only because i know i can't. can you disappear if you only disappear because you don't know who you've become anymore?

last night, i caught the first spring rain. the first. my first. each drop surprises me and lingers while the next falls. it's a succession of contained cool and my skin makes them warm to the touch. and they linger and spread, and it's no longer just rain. now i'm just wet and shivering. the rain stops and i breathe deeply. it is the smell of the street moving to meet the rain, impatient to let it just fall. the smell of spring in this city of asphalt and roundabouts and square patches of yellow grass they call parks. the smell of spring that is muted by the the knowledge of so many suits in shiny shiny shoes. the smell of spring that never lets on that in a few days, another cold front will move in, and your sandals will be exchanged for your winter boots.

i bring my quiet with me. but i am always looking for it, trying to create it. my quiet slips through me to you. you see it and touch it and try to move it. meanwhile, i have the pain in my shoulder. the pain in my shoulder is the trace of you and me. like the air on a hot hot day with no hint of breeze.