a cigarette at 2am
the stretch of days between Christmas and the new year; liminal time
there’s a stagnance in these walls
this house.
ceiling fans,
the only source of movement
in the air,
recycling.
over and over,
blades churning stagnance,
thick like molasses
and yet we smile and say good morning as we pour our coffee side by side
just like yesterday.
optimism in our mugs, our tones
our cheeks,
though we haven’t felt the winter in days.
in the dark, in the silence,
I hear each rotation clearly
cutting through stale breath.
I can’t sleep.
am I breathing?
where does the carbon dioxide go?
Groundhog Day.
I need some air.
how long have I been here?
2am,
a cigarette,
I crack the window.
About the Creator
Taylor Neal
A multi-disciplinary artist, writer and sex worker's advocacy support worker, Taylor's cumulative practice comes together as a holistic exploration of identity, sexuality, and how the embodied subject navigates space and the natural world.
Enjoyed the story? Support the Creator.
Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed.
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.