10.13.03 - 10:05

you watch it spread (the dying) from one leaf to the next, tiny brown spots growing into big brown patches, the patches growing together, gobbling up the green. you water it like he said (once a week) and you put it by the window (he said it would survive with minimal sun but you're starting to think he was wrong) and it's dying and it's not supposed to. you think about putting it out on the fire escape where it would get more sun but you hear his voice (minimal sunlight, minimal sunlight). you think about fertilizer or pruning or whatever you do about dying plants but then you realize that you don't really know what you do about dying plants. you hope the orchid is just dormant, the long stem bare, but the leaves still green and fleshy. you watched as the tiny buds opened and the spotted petals unfurled. you saw the blooms fade and fall, the sticky sap clotting where the necks snapped. your room smelled like orchids, sweet and heavy, for a time, but as the flowers fell, the fragrance grew faint until they were gone and it was gone and all that was left was (is) barren.

you're watching all the time, trying to understand. you talk about yourself this way because you're not really living -- you're just watching the days of your life unfold before you, wondering what each minute may bring. you are detached, empty, soulless, broken; you are outside of yourself. you don't feel the wind on your skin or her hand on your arm or his lips on your hair. you're still breathing somehow, you're lying still, counting your heartbeats. you're watching yourself, tossing and turning now, waiting for sleep. you're wondering who you've become, what happened to the girl you were. when did you go wrong? where do the pieces go as they disappear? why did it have to end up like this, why? why is this ache inside of me the only thing that i can still feel?

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