post thanks, posthaste

my mom's side of the family can interrupt quite a bit, and assume a lot of things.

i inherited my mother's and her father's capability to internalize things. swallow it whole, swallow it down, digesting it slowly and silently. only a few times have i ever regurgitated anything. it's ugly, and people never recognize it as their own until i let it out and point at the mess on the ground.

my nana and my mother were discussing about how their own men have dealt with things. my nana says that my grandpa left to go for a drive in the middle of an argument. my mom pointed out that my dad left to see a movie. according to my nana, men don't know how to deal with things. i made my own exit from the room at that point.

i inherited my mother's and her father's capability to internalize things, and my own father's thought process in dealing with such mental food. sometimes it's running away, other times it's simply walking away. there's a big difference: sometimes it's the fear (flight), sometimes it's deliberate; bravest way, heavy steps, leaving giants' footprints in my wake.

wake. i didn't wake at all last night. this morning i woke up once and drifted off again. i dreamt of things like concrete and iron, and breath on skin, and skin on skin, the softest sensation that i'd, before, only really fantasized about, and as of now, haunts the niches in the walls of my subconscious.

but the sensations are the only things left. good ghosts. i let them stay. their airy selves warm me more than chill me. and i let them stay, because they don't invite other apparitions in, and honestly, who would need that? i don't, and i don't want anything else. i can honestly think about them without shivering. the sensations are the only things left, and they're quite good company on lonely nights, lonely even with others around me.

i keep them.

i am kept.

-d