“Rand” – loosely based on a journal entry from December

you are exploding in the library

an open chest boiling and bursting

spilling passion over thick pages

“who can understand?” you ask

despondently you wait for a reply

a sightless philosophy open in front

taken over by a brief glimpse

five hours has passed since

crushing carefulness

cringing with over-awareness

longing for easier and warmer

tepid liquid to gloss it over

and then

a muffled voice from two shelves away

quiet but firm and sure –

“stand still!” it says

“don’t spill.”

the voice says it understands me best –

“this pain more precious than pleasure”

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