It has something to do with:
The Mexican woman I watched out of the car window with no teeth, laughing, gaping holes in the sides of her mouth. Of how when I thought of her I thought “Hispanic” but mostly I just thought of her tan skin and the way the sun must just sit on top of it, never absorbing any further, to keep it as clean and as delicate as it seemed to be. And how I felt like if I could look at her everyday for a split second for the rest of my life, I would be able to understand something bigger about the world–but we both just looked away.
The way the air from my bedroom window seems to come down only in one spot and rest slowly, coldly, on my left arm and how even if I cover it, I can still feel the cold like it has seeped into my body and I don’t mind it because it’s always there but I feel like if I could watch it happen–it would look something like water falling from a very small, high place.
The way I have been letting the words take over parts of my brain, only if for a few seconds, and how sometimes they feel paralyzing, even now, even when I’m an adult, and how that is the only comfort or certainty I have towards who I am going to become. Who I know that I will be.
(separate) An impending (but entirely real) doom.