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  • When sleep does not come, I think about you.

    When I eat, I sit on the floor even though there is a table and chair.

    You push me against the wall, your hand caresses the inside of my thigh….

    I eat my dinner alone, lentils and rice transporting me back to beggars and temples.

    You worshiped something that was close to me,
    but wasn’t
    .

    Perhaps I sit to position myself in such a way that may stir up these memories, but also to try and find something solid that is mine and not yours.

    How come it can still bring me to my knees after all this time?

    An impossible quest…objects you can discard, or get anew; memories live on and often come in without asking, like uninvited guests.

    And I am unprepared, always, no matter if the floor is there or not.

    But the floor is humbling at least, unlike your touch that was filled with self-importance.

    Lentils and rice are my new medicine. I will emulate a nun on her retreat who prepares her bed each day even though no one is there to check. I will get up. I will brush my hair. I will sit on the floor.

    Whether your ghost comes to me at night or not.
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