Whereabouts

I’ve never stayed still, I’ve always been moving, that’s all I’ve ever been doing. Always waiting either to get somewhere or to come back. Or to escape

Because when all is said and done the setting doesn’t matter: the space, the walls, the light. It makes no difference whether I’m under a clear blue sky or caught in the rain or swimming in the transparent sea in summer.

You loved that darkness in particular, and that seat reserved for you and only you, in which you eagerly absorbed the woes of other characters

maybe the gaps between those tree stumps I always hoped would diminish, and perhaps even close up completely, represented that space between the two of you

You always occupied your own space. You preferred dwelling in your own realm, closed off. How can I link myself to another person when I’m still struggling, even after your death, to eliminate the distance between you and my mother

When you change houses you always lose something. Every move betrays you, it always cheats you somehow. I’m still looking for certain things.

And so I heed my call, having come to know the guts and soul of this place a little too well. It’s just that today, feeling slothful, I’m prey to those embedded fears that don’t dissipate

I might have said no, I might have just stayed put. But something’s telling me to push past the barrier of my life,

its aspect from one moment to the next, it can’t be defined

Always shifting, altering