February 11, 2012 § 2 Comments
My mind spreads its spikes at dawn like a hedgehog preparing for a fox attack.
This morning’s hangover has nothing to do with alcohol. The poison is my mind wanting me to be something that I am not.
I stare at him and wonder what he is thinking. I want to melt right through his skin, invade every pore, and eat his thoughts for breakfast.
When I take off my glasses he says I look lost, vulnerable.
A world lies embedded between my computer keys made of bread crumbs, a micro world unaware of me.
The Arabic pizza baker raises his eyebrows and tells me I’m getting smaller.
The annoying fragility of this plastic life shows when the hungry ATM eats my credit card.
I sit on a fence at the top of the hill catching my breath. When a police officer asks me what my story is, I stare at him.
My ninety-seven year old neighbor is cleaning her house and running errands. She is moving to Thailand tomorrow to start a new life. I wish I were her.
Pirjo Zeylon is a writer and artist who lives and writes in southern Sweden. She is fluent in Swedish, Finnish and English. Pirjo is currently working on a novel that she hopes will be published before she reaches 50. When she is not writing Pirjo works in the field of logistics.
Image: Aimless Day, By Pirjo Zeylon