I want to believe in unicorns.  I want to believe in mirages.  I want to believe in all the things I’m told not to.

Taking walks down winding hutongs alone at early hours, I hum little chants I have inside my head as if I could make it all better.

Crafting little sayings that mean something about nothing about someone I can’t have.  Inside this little heart, tearing apart.

Separate and disembodied in this state.  Trying to forget.  Not wanting to say it.  Knowing somehow it’s supposed to make me better.

Patiently waiting for nothing at all, maybe.

Uncertainty filters into the veins, when actions precede actions and laughter still lingers.

How the mind has to fight to let go; to play this game it doesn’t want to, but knows.





Michelle Lee Proksell