You do not love yourself

Those life moments when you are wondering what’s up with me, what’s going on right now, coz you have that niggling somethingy feeling in a sensing part of you, which tells you, all is not quite right. And then you kinda, just kinda, see the thought coming from outfield the right side of your brain, curving round the back, coz it knows if it comes in through the front, you might just slam the door shut, and it gusts through the inner-side quarter glass of your mind, that you’d left open just for a little idle wondering. BAAAAM.

Like that that hot afternoon when you are driving down your dusty road, windows down, keeping just a spin ahead of the dust trail, and then that flank wind comes from the side exactly as you ease of the accelerator to slow down a mite, to glide smoothly along the edges of the familiar rut cut in the road that you’ve learned how to take without using the breaks, and BAAAAM, your next breath is dust! And you step on the break, which allows your dust tail to catch up with you, so that your gasp for air receives dust, and you are chocking, stepping on the break, hitting the lock button instead of rolling up the windows, bent over, coughing soundless tears through your eyes. And you think this is what they call the near death experience dying, coz your grit filled squint eyes cannot see through the splendidly blinding red dust cloud, but it cannot be death because it is not a bright warm welcoming light. The flee instinct pushes the gear to park with one hand as the other pulls the door handle up, pushing the door open with feet and seat simultaneously lifting for an out. The car that’s been peeping through your rear-view dust for the last ten kilometres swerves around you, hooting, and you don’t know how but you clearly see the driver mouthing what you cannot hear since their windows are up. And you try to take another dust breath, as you realise you cannot take another breath because the seat belt is now compressing your neck, and you reach back and unclasp it, and you are thinking don’t stick on me now like you usually do, and you try to see if another car is coming, because I am not going to die now. Just cough holding agonisingly stand still, one eyed slit, mouth shut, tongue on roof of mouth locking throat, jaws clenched, chin in shoulders, hands holding belly, because you dimly see coming towards you, a break in the dust cloud. I am not going to die now.

What, the core mewls. The thought is here. You do not love yourself.

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