Letter of Resignation

2023

There was a moment where I thought I was in love with an individual; they passed by much like a breeze, chilling me to the bone. If I stayed as they swayed any longer, I would have grown frozen. I uncovered something akin to sunshine and pulled back sap on my underside, saw the sun replace the half moon I witnessed walking uphill as the sky was turning blue. Squirrels ran past, I am in love with all; last night I dreamt of someone beautiful and a soft kiss. I woke up resigned to the state of my own desire. Fall is about to press down on me like a kiss on a cat’s forehead. No, fall is about to press down onto me like a curtain that always collapses. When the moon returns to its rightful position, when I am illuminated by the backsides, I lie down and fall asleep, resigned to the state of my own desire. Pulling myself off the mattress, morning melts off sap on my underside. I peel off the sticky bits, put down the pursuit of peeling until clean, and send in a letter of resignation. 

Good morning, 

I am writing this to inform you that I am no longer an unidentified object trying to squeeze itself into something solid. I cannot hold my not-self in two places at once much longer; I am turning over a new leaf! Here are my keys; here is the code to the door placed in front of the door, in front of a closet overflowing with books on how to be. I cannot be but an animal, so I resign my position here. I am returning to my old office, with windows, wisdom in my want. Desire that begins and desire that ends; desire that knows itself. I was once an animal that knew when to put the pen down, I was once an animal that knew when to stop scrubbing dirt off skin. 

Is this the state of my desire?

I cannot help but ask, am I clean yet? Am I clean? Will I ever be clean? I once was an animal that was not clawing and cleaning in a cage; I was once an animal, not a cage. Am I almost clean? When will I be clean?  

Thank you again!