when anne sexton said: hold me. i am a small handful.

i felt that

she asked me how i was doing and i didn’t really know how to answer that. we haven’t seen each other in awhile. she asked me out of love and care but i still didn’t know how to answer it. how do i answer that. how am i doing. how am i feeling. throughout the day -every day- viv always asks me how i am feeling. and on the harder days, she asks me how my heart is doing.

i think about that. how is my heart doing. how is your heart doing. i haven’t been hungry lately. nothing tastes rich on my tongue, nothing tastes of life, nothing tastes of love. i’ve been trying to find it- in a bar of dark chocolate melting into an inky cup of black coffee, thinly sliced radish chilled in ice water before being layered onto a toasted piece of sourdough bread thickly slathered with salty butter, silky egg yolk coating each grain of rice before being drizzled with a salty garlicky crisp. even if i can’t taste love, i try to find it where i can.