holding my own face in my own hands and screaming “there is no connection without an open heart! you must be brave! you must be honest! you must be true!” in the mirror
“When the piece of a body is left (or a home is left) then the body begins being a constellation: one piece is there! one piece is there! If I leave my hair in the comb in my mother’s house & walk out the door to go to the airport, then all of a sudden the body is everything between me & that lost piece. The body is made up, then, of roads & crickets & azucena & mud. How large we are. How ramshackle, how brilliant, how haphazardly & strangely rendered we are. Gloriously, fantastically mixed & monstered. I have been asking myself to be more attentive & porous—to pay attention to the way every inch of me is animal, every inch of me is earth. I am trying to remember this. Where is my cloud? Where is my sea? What do the lungs hunt? What does the eye have in common with the teeth?”
![[ID: the worst part of love is / that I remember it. / I walk around all day thinking: / I’m going to die in the universe you loved me in. / I get so jealous of euthanized dogs.]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/4168ec8e6deb2e9c8d58244fabe4c5e0/e08cad805cb93b95-da/s500x750/a05624e883516f04ca2f1089a6ae0e087c29af7a.jpg)
