Wednesday

I tried to do everything right but the sadness sunk in with a depth and a vengeance, soaking through all that it touched. The way it felt was wrong and unlike I’d imagined. I wasn’t excited for anything. I missed not being anxious. I missed the woods and snow. I miss that cheap and fleeting feeling, feeling beautiful. If I was an oyster I’d shut tight my two doors, bunker down. If I was a whale, I’d open wide my baleen and let the ocean in. Instead I feel my facial features deadening. I feel my cheeks becoming fat, forlorn. I feel exasperated about even the one downy feather that drifts on the subway car floor, freed from some puffy jacket. I despise the fact my stop is coming and I think of ways to delay standing up. None come to mind.