Monica Bielanko
That's What She Said
Just A Junk Drawer Dream
You can also find Monica's writing here:
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Just Another Bird Floating On a Hurricane

This morning I waged war against aching hips and a lower back whinier than Henry on his worst day and immersed myself in below freezing temperatures to walk through our neighborhood.

It was fairly early... No sound but the distant whoosh of passing traffic on the other side of the farms lining the northern half of our village. The sky was azure, snow like powdered sugar, golden cornstalks shyly peeking through the drifts and air so cold each inhale was a refreshing slap to the lungs.

The snow crunched beneath my footsteps but I couldn't hear it, only feel the shifting vibrations against the soles of my shoes, because instead of the silence I listened to Mazzy Star: Look On Down From The Bridge.

Everybody seems so far away from me
Everybody just wants to be free
Look away from the sky
It's no different when you're leaving home
I can't be the same thing to you now
I'm just gone, just gone
How could I say goodbye?
How could I say goodbye?

Know those scenes in music videos or in the movies where someone stands still while traffic and people move obliviously around them at increased speed? That's how I feel right now. All the time. Just another bird floating on a hurricane.

Action is required but I am molosses: thoughts, movements, feelings... Sticky and slow-moving. Fills my mouth, drips thickly down my throat, into my chest, a gummy mass surrounding my dead heart and then it fills my stomach until I feel like I could spend hours, days, spray-puking the sad/beautiful/horrifying/dazzling/heartbreaking realities of love and life and death and never be finished.

I see your mouth moving but I can't hear what you're saying.

I know the days are slipping by but I'm not keeping count.

And Mazzy sings on.