WIND WAKE

Cold air enters these rooms in increments – when it is very windy outside, during storms. The windows are new, and they are nice, but they do not shut completely. There is something happening at the top of the window, between the frame and the pane. Also, there is friction in the middle.

Your words are becoming like air. My body is fragile and aches, even when I spring up out of a chair and slip across the wood. If I injure myself my body will not heal. I am prone to “wound healing impediment”. My body’s ability to fix an injury is impeded. I cannot have surgery. There is friction in the middle.

I am uncertain about the function of levity.

The breathing that leads to the words is silent, and I do not think of it until I think about rogue air. Rogue air succeeds in remaining itself because it’s not impeded from embodying its true nature – air travels where it pleases. The earth and the sun and the moon carve great paths in the sky, through the trees, into cities and homes; air is globally unimpeded, like the internet or cancer.

When I am being talked to, I utilize the energy my body manufactures in order to process the meaning of the words, and I'm often unable to contextualize them as readily as I once was. This is how the words disappear. When my house is destroyed, the wind will not destroy it. When my body dies, your words will not have precipitated the malfunction.

Air is invisible. We can only see the wind by its wake.

What do people mean when they say that someone has been “battling cancer” or has “lost his fight with cancer”? I do not feel like I am fighting in a battle. I do not feel like I am fighting. I do not feel aggressive, and I do not feel like I have a way of defending myself from an internal aggressor.