It is in the peripherals of the pages
that I like to exist these days
the sweet moments upon waking
or the hazy twilight moments before
sleep tightens its hold on my
already heavy lids.
In these seconds (minutes, hours)
I have no recollection of that
which I have recently lost or
the danger which invariably
finds its way back to me.
In this gentle shallow fog I am
perfect without form and
I do not have to worry about
the unfolding plot or whether
I am heroine or antagonist
and I am not frightened
that I don’t even prefer
one to the other anymore.

 

BB

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