I can’t comprehend
Pitchfork’s weekly new music newsletter;
my brain doesn’t compute the content;
it arrives like a language I once knew
now spoken underwater, through glass.
names slip off the edges of thought
like coins dropped into a couch I can’t quite find
and I swear I knew what I was looking for
until I stood in the doorway and forgot the room.
even the small things misbehave
keys become riddles, sentences dissolve mid-step
I start a thought and it wanders off
returns hours later wearing a different coat.
still, there are moments—
a sudden clarity like sunlight through blinds
a song I recognize without trying
a breath that lands where it’s supposed to...
and I learn again,
softly,
that forgetting is not always leaving
sometimes it’s just the mind
resting its eyes for a while.