Thank goodness for Vader

Thank goodness for Vader. His breath pushes hot and heavy against the walls of the tent.

I won't even tell you about my dreams of late. Okay, here's something. They've been horrifying.


I was sitting on the toilet when I told him. It took me a few moments to realize that I was crying as I reached for the toilet paper.

After I said it I felt lighter. We had sex anyway. The next morning I wrote in my journal, perhaps all that's left is to say it out loud. 


The you that was has been transmogrified into the you that is now. Or perhaps not changed but split, like a cell dividing.

In either case I feel a renewed depth of tenderness as your face cries in front of my face.



At this point I suppose it's hurting me more to repress it than it is to fess up. My name is June V., and he did not treat me well. I run too much and I work too much but I'm trying to sit still more often.
 

This is a year for adventure. In a few minutes I am traveling to the other side of the world.



I will not put so much pressure on myself. I spend hours in front of the computer, reading the town calendar and clicking through images.

Perhaps already my uterus carries it--pregnant not with human DNA but with longing.    


You've come a long way, baby, toward the hope of yourself.