I cannot sleep again. My head is pounding with all the things I want. I am desperate for something yet I don't know the words to ask for it. I don't even know if I can find it here. Is there a word for this pain in a language of romance? I am cold on the street with a hand full of coins. I am moving my feet to find warmth in the pavement. How long will I feed this meter while miming all of my desires to a painted wall of stone?
Some days are harder to take. This was one of those days. Open with a breakdown. Still waiting for it to pass. But- my head is a turbine of questions. How long must I wait? I am holding my breath and running short on coins. I shake my pockets, searching for something to fill the meter- yet my currency is foreign and oddly shaped.
I will cry in the nighttime and no one will see my tears. The salt from my lonely whispers will work its way into their dreams and fill the night with oceans. I will be barefoot on the Mediterranean. I will be a phone call from Portugal. I will be a postcard lost in the mail. But more than anything- I will be a memory.
I will be the one who hides her tears in the darkness. I will patch up my ribs with scrap wood and odd nails. I will cover this place in me that aches. Until I reach the ocean, I will be salt of my own and alone in my crashing.
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