The Book Of Regret Comments

days come to die here— in the belly of our unsaid words. I used to believe every person had an absence. a dying voice that only survived small lapses- like forgetting your identity at the grocery store. now I know that sound of foreignness is really the sound of kindredness. the two opposites are really the same.

every night I wait by the doorstep for my dog to come back from the dead. his stabbing bark could warm me on these nights I forget my veins aren't blue. I want to be alone with him. so alone I remember what it meant to live without words. but I must hear his crisp bark crack the air— just to know his ghost is coming to warm the bed.
...
Read full text