another night of inverse sleep in this strange, new place
and my cat is pouncing on our braided rug
turning it sideways so the whole room looks confused and ugly.
in our old apartment, the rug fit just-so
pinned beneath the couch so it couldn't move.
i miss that feeling, precision borne from familiarity
but i am here, not frozen
wandering aimlessly in the valley between happinesses.
i do not know what pushed me from my peak, but
i am beginning to notice that the afterwards is always eternal -
things cannot un-happen, through sheer force of will or desperate wishing.
time fills up space
and no amount of crying can put things where they once were
not even a rug, which in the morning
i dutifully line up with the floorboards
studying its delicate weave and the space where it has snagged a thousand times
hoping to return it to its original positioning.
i am almost successful; the rug is almost where i remember it being
but everything uncanny is measured in micrometers
and the cat will pounce again
