The Bluing
Now I wish I would’ve emerged from somewhere as the sky was bluing. I often say this is my blue period, and maybe this is how it would have ended. Black becoming blue as the sun crowned the horizon. I wonder where I would’ve been coming from: a club, an apartment, a hospital. Hungover, angry, concerned. I’m smoking, and I don’t know why I’m smoking; I’m terrified of addiction. Fearful of dependence. Maybe I asked someone to lend me one as if I would’ve handed it back all lit and deformed, ready to be stomped. Maybe during the exchange, our fingers brushed against one another, and I didn’t feel the urge to wash my hands. Maybe I thanked them half-heartedly. They’d’ve been someone nondescript someone not contagious. We’d’ve been two people briefly sharing a moment, sharing space, inhaling and exhaling together. Maybe I would’ve been: piecing together the events of the night, forgetting who I decided to follow home, imagining better days. Then I’d leave. Walking when the black of night would break and become the blue of morning. Maybe I would’ve realized something. Something like this is what it means to swim in the light. Or maybe I wouldn’t have. Maybe I would’ve groaned at the thought of tomorrow having become today.
© Catharine Romero-Perla 2021
