as I lay on my bed, staring blankly at the beige wallpaper in front of me
the tissues in my body reject my urge to muster strength
I watch the fan on the ceiling carefully repeat its orbit over and over again
monotonous, like this hollowing moment in time
but there’s something about the lines on that beige wallpaper I can’t seem to
overlook
the lines, they converge and diverge at intervals
the movements much like the dances we made in elementary school
unhinged yet somehow unconventionally artistic
coming together and drifting apart,
rising and falling like ocean waves, perforated and blue
yet those lines,they don’t feel comforting
they say art should disturb the comforted,
maybe that’s a signal.
I feel a tug in my stomach
like the knot grandfather made me learn before I went for camp
the knot he left me to contemplate;
to un-knot
struggling to find comfort in the knots and tugs
I tilt to my left, and I now have another canvas to envisage
the angles changed, perceptions re-aligned
so many more knots to untie, lines to unhinge
memories to detach.
