It’s depression season in my life, so this kind of dream doesn’t particularly come as a surprise.
My friend breaks down
Know something about breaking, too.
Between aisles in a grocery store,
She always said, was the best place
To hide, so I follow her to the soap section,
The calming scents and the cool linoleum
Of the row just next to hers,
Where we both can cry just that little
I play a recording on my phone,
Myself talking through the depression
We’re both feeling, try to work it out but
It sounds from my mouth, as if
A tiny mic were placed right before my nose.
I have to close my lips over with my fingers,
Like rolling the windows up in a car
With the radio on, to not scare passersby.