There are no hidden diaries filled with distracting secrets. Only beautiful objects that clatter to the floor on touch — accusatory.
It was the chocolate muffin that reminded me of the day’s particular despair. It’s dark brown heaviness clenched, stayed.
Each day is pried loose like a bit of shine gummed up against stone. Each night chiseled jangled nerves like the last tooth inside the hollow of a mouth’s cave.
There’s a moment of give; of unexpected ease. Read into it what you will. The unpacking of each day.
And it’s re-packaging at the end.