They tell you to stop chasing the past; that you’re here in the moment.
But really, you’re stuck in the moment.
No, you’re stuck in the aftermath of it, in the calm after the storm.
You’re stuck in the loose hairs you found on your pillow and the way you couldn’t speak for days.
You’re stuck in the quiet limbo.
The dead silence.
The moments after the fall when your limbs are all broken, but you know you’re still alive.
You’re stuck in the rain melting down your windshield and the way you leaned when your car swerved.
The maps you found built in your own body and the places that turned into warzones.
You’re stuck in fault lines, where your skin crashed together and left scars.
You’re stuck in fault lines, and they’re beginning to crack open.
– excerpt from a book I’ll never write