I sit down to do one thing.
Just one thing.
I even say it out loud so it stays.
Just one thing.
Before I start, I notice the light in the room is wrong.
Not bad.
Just wrong.
Like it’s trying too hard.
I adjust it.
Then I wonder how long lightbulbs last.
I google it.
I don’t read the answer because I remember
I forgot to text you back yesterday.
I open my phone.
There’s a notification.
I don’t remember what it’s about but it feels important.
I swipe it away to keep my screen clean.
Now I don’t know why I opened my phone.
So I put it down carefully
like it might explode if I’m rude to it.
I go back to the thing.
The one thing.
The only thing.
My brain says:
What if we did it later, but better?
My brain says:
What if we researched it first?
My brain says:
What if this isn’t the right order?
I make a list.
The list feels responsible.
The list feels like adulthood.
I add bullet points.
I reorganize the bullet points.
I color-code the bullet points because colors help memory.
I forget what the list is for but I love it anyway.
I think about how time works.
Not in a big way.
In a small way.
Like how five minutes can be nothing
or everything
depending on who’s watching.
You talk to me and I am listening.
I am really listening.
I’m listening so hard it hurts.
I watch your mouth because mouths are anchors.
I nod at the right times.
I store your words carefully
like I’ll need them later
and I will
I swear I will.
Halfway through your sentence
my brain opens another tab.
Then another.
Then one that plays music
I didn’t ask for.
I don’t interrupt because I’m rude.
I interrupt because if I don’t say the thought now
it will evaporate
and I will grieve it
like a beautiful animal
I failed to photograph.
You laugh when I jump topics.
You say I’m random.
You say I’m fun.
You say you love how excited I get.
I ride that love like a borrowed bike
too fast
no hands
certain I can balance forever.
At night I promise myself tomorrow will be different.
Tomorrow I will focus.
Tomorrow I will finish.
Tomorrow I will become a person
with edges.
Morning arrives early.
Too early.
Everything is loud.
Even quiet things.
Especially quiet things.
I try again.
I really try.
I try so hard I forget to eat.
I try so hard I forget I’m trying.
Hours disappear behind me
like unlocked doors.
Later, you’re frustrated.
Not angry.
Just tired.
You ask why I didn’t do the thing
I said I would do
the thing
the only thing.
I open my mouth to explain
but the explanation is a hallway
with too many doors
and I don’t know which one you need.
I tell you I forgot.
This sounds small.
This sounds careless.
This sounds like I didn’t care.
But I cared so much
my brain ran everywhere at once
looking for the right way to hold it.
Tonight I leave the project open.
I leave the tabs open.
I leave the thoughts unfinished.
I don’t close anything.
I let tomorrow find me
mid-sentence.
