(Published in The Valley Press Anthology of Prose Poetry, 2019)
There is the sun dissolving the dark, and light as clear as music, filling the room where you sleep and the other rooms behind your eyes.
- Jeanette Winterson
I want to be still – So still that air sleeps on my skin and the tick of a watch could rattle my bones. I will put my name and number in an envelope and post it to the moon, apply no pressure to my surroundings or the floor. I have no need for ornament or embellishment, clothes or colours applied to my surfaces. I am a hairless shape. I want to be carried by time, my breathing to fade, my heart to suspend its beat and my pale eyes to make one last slow blink like the shutter of a camera without film. And from that instant I have no smell and my impossibly smooth surface is neither wet nor dry, my inside and outside will irreversibly merge. All natural colours have drained so I become transparent and eventually, will posses neither length, width nor depth. What has happened has been made possible by a wish and can never be repeated or forgotten and what is left of me is a nothingness that is bigger and more powerful than time or you or me. It can never be destroyed or remoulded and there is no box large enough for it to live in – There is no hum of electricity.