The new disease came. I learn that time does not heal. Everything gets worse with days. I have spots like a dog. I cough and cannot turn my head. I consider sleeping with people I do not like. I need to lie back to front with someone who adores me. I will think before I cannot. I love my mind when it is fucking the cracks of events. I want to tell you what I know in case it is of use. I want to go to the future please.
How could I entirely hate the world even when I’m in the deepest depression? Because the sun still warms my skin and casts shadows across the grass in my backyard. It still illuminates the leaves of the macadamia tree. It makes my eyelashes look like diamonds when I blink. The sky is filled with my favourite colours at the end of day, a farewell, a final adieu for the day. And once we grow tiresome of the somewhat over bearing nature of the sun she gives us night, a dark alternative to day, when secrets are whispered a little louder and kisses are shared in a different way. But she is still there, lighting up the night sky even when she can’t be seen. The sun is responsible for summer memories, hot days at the beaches, dripping ice blocks and the spray of freckles across your face, your own personal galaxy. The growth of grass, the sparkle of the spiderweb spun across the branch. The way your eyes change depth and colour as you look directly at the sun or the way it filters through your hair. The sun makes us appreciate the rain, from the light sprinkle in the spring to the violent storms that summer is famous for. And after the rain has passed, the sun produces a rainbow that says ‘Thank you rain, you have a purpose and your beauty is appreciated. ’
Sunlight means growth and growth means life.
How could you hate so much when there is so much beauty in this world?
Sometimes I want someone to come along and pluck me out of this world and then fold me into a little origami swan and then put me in a little brook and then the water will slowly seep in and I’ll eventually disintegrate and be nothing