Concept of the Locket
It rustles through metal on a rainy night.
The day after will be overcast; the streetlights keep to themselves, illuminating the scene.
If I had a heart rate monitor back then, it would look like an spectrogram spewing out records unimaginable.
Could concrete ever smell so fresh?
I ran my hands against metal and skin; no difference was detected because nothing was seen.
Past the powerlines and fairy lights, up through musty glass and a decaying project; down an endless street, kicking up the concept of dust in a deadened stairwell.
The concept of the locket remained firm; it held its truth when my truth was thoroughly dissolved and buried. To deny myself that existence has been my entire life's "purpose." Instead I uphold my existence, only it is separate from it all.
I never saw its hue of red as anything other than a part of me or
It smelled of rust and a quiet exit; buses carried along the streets. Not paradoxically, it also smelled of morning dew and healing.
Every night, every morning, I cast a gaze at that sculpture, a million thoughts of [anguish] [hope] [rhythm].
And then my hands again, acidified.
Beyond that door was another locket, a light-forgotten world, each sound plucked from its keys was that of silence, then another memory, further back now, of that hospital.
The hospital had no lockets, but instead the grand piano in the lobby; located just before the cafeteria. On the top of such: it was...washed out? Close to grey, but fulfilled, like I was always there; like every hospital, like the pinnacle 8 years ago.
Before I continue, I need to refine a memory focusing on the locket.
Let's go back around 3 years now, 2022.
Yeah...
Even if only I am seeing this completed canvas; with intentional strokes of violence and compassion, I still remember.
It seems to be utterly impossible, that for everything that had happened, to forget it. ...
However it was forgotten, denied, erased.
This memoir cannot be found, but if it ever was:
Please remember.
It's okay if you don't...because I don't either.
At some point the words melded and melted.
Until the concept drifted, and the sunset became distant, fiercely cold, it's Winter here.
Peeling away from the ceiling like the smoke which stained it; I never thought much of it, and of course, the violent option was chosen, more violent than the communal blood we shared before that.
And of course; the stagnant, biiiiiiter air....home.
Realized brilliance and the ocean videos; fell asleep to another closed door, exactly what I wanted, to create a world outside of the other one, while still holding all of reality within me.
the metal was so close to blood, I saw no difference.
the locket was firm, in place, physically an conceptually.
and
a few days ago I ate from someplace entirely [un>?]familiar.
staring at the posters.
didn't choke on any food this time.
My eyes are closed envisioning that sunset again...staring out towards the ocean between trees.
Take care of yourselves everyone!
- Victoria
(will be continued, it is 5 am and too tired)