tonight i am tired and blurrier than the reflection in the window would have you believe. softer, too, than she thought that i was, or parts of me at least, the gentle parts. harder at the neckline, rougher at the edges, smoothed out and silking in a tendency towards distance. heavier and lighter, darker and steeped in pink, smoothing myself into simple lines that extend across the page, that float downwards, that draw to the end. i am not forgotten nor resting either. i am just about ready to jump up. i am just about ready. i am jumping.