Days Without - November

Nadya Volicer

I’d been flitting about for months when autumn fell. And I with it. This month I made each day mine in time to see its passing. Every day marked with the creation of a box, the recording of a thought. What remains is this little dialogue…

November 1

I haven’t written a word since you arrived, one week ago today.

November 2

Yesterday, my face pressed into your arm, holding on. Now you’re gone.

November 3

It’s strange. I’ve already dreamt you as memory.

November 4

Now I make sense with my simple equations, with my baby steps.

November 5

On my own again with room to breathe. More staring off into space. More productive.

November 6

Your vision extends so far into forever that I could never quite see far enough.

November 7

You’ve made me into your character, “the world’s strongest wom-an,” and I’m flattered and belittled by the phrase. As if my strength is somehow quaint.

November 8

He caught on to my coldness. A draft in response to his last. I don’t want to write back.

November 9

I liked her house and thought about having my own someday. So I said yes and he left.

November 10

The neighbor empties beer bottles against the cold and I wonder why he doesn’t just put some socks on.

November 11

Rereading your letter I discovered the dry flower, pressed further on its way up north. Pressed too far.

November 12

Maybe it’s as if you took some things and ran. Maybe I did.

November 13

Even my inner vision is fading in and out to the point at which I’m not quite certain what’s real. But little boxes. The pain in my ear.

November 14

Now, you and I are hip to thoughts outside the box, but this was really pushing it.

November 15

Last night I dreamt of winding through your madhouse. Perhaps it was your mind, or maybe our time together.

November 16

How we argued over how to find the North Star, following every dot on the dipper towards an even brighter future, to no avail.

November 17

She schedules Saturdays to avoid loneliness, which she sometimes encounters on days without appointments or plans.

November 18

Reminders. There were so many of those. I suppose I could’ve just told you myself. I suppose I did several times.

November 19

It was improbable you’d call. Still, I listened. Maybe you werethinking of me.

November 20

I was just a girl and I can see that now.

November 21

There is no end to my softness, skin and souls replenish. Strength hydrates.

November 22

I just realized not only am I glad that you’re alive, but that you could die at any second without my ever getting the chance to speak with you again.

November 23

I need a good book to be in the middle of. I’m beginning to feel meaningless.

November 24

With wild abandon, I mailed it.

November 25

So I’m officially a dream-state victim. Just so long as I don’t start walking around.

November 26

It’s your contempt for understanding that undermines your much acclaimed perception.

November 27

It was then I knew she had called a week in advance to apologize for the thing she hadn’t done yet.

November 28

I just want what I can see so clearly.

November 29

I found your fleece in the closet, your smell nearly worn entirely away. I pressed it to my face.

November 30

What remains is this little dialogue with love.