Atlas & Alice | Issue 2 Winter 2014
“life is a constant cycle of drifting into new addictions,” and “the heart nods even when it disagrees.” you consider writing about how you would sometimes wake before the moon set and see her there next to you and want to touch her sleeping eyelids to change the dream, or how the sunlight kissed her face in the same way every morning but never managed to brush away the flecks of night caught in her hair. you consider writing these things and decide to abandon them in favor of a series of ink stains. 4. there is the heart the light does not reach and then there is the word for heart, which the light can only reflect. 5. you turn on the radio and start a new page. In the background the white noise of Cher crooning about old wounds and forgiveness. “note to self: there is a dead body waiting in your body like a ghost. god knows what it knows.” the plant moves again, sending words up at you from its softly potted dark. 6. you stay up the rest of the night with a warm plate of food and all the lights turned on, waiting for another epiphany. your hands want to move in new ways but they are tired: dried ink stains on your fingertips from marking down the list of typos made by god.
Issue 2 | Winter 2014