a parched palette and,
persistent thirst

and,
every cell feels insatiable
— your health, you have your health.
googled Agadez, Niger
somewhere
the sands and throes of the Sahara, the Sonoran Desert, maybe
a commonality of climate
(maybe only this restless when writing, maybe scorning others’ movement to level up with anger)
it’s angst. not the teenage kind.
not fleeting if it’s four months on. as paralyzing fear morphed into sleeplessness, and now it’s apparent there’s no start and end to each day but only peaks and valleys of anxiety, but never fully free
because what haunts most is that we’ll never have – have, a possession and time – have freedom like what i budgeted for fastidiously yet took for granted.