To 2017-2018
Prosaic

By Eleena Ghosh

  1. Untitled
    Untitled
    By Brittany Ahn
  
  
I find it in the drops of my tea.
In the soft rustles of the curtain billowing in the gentle wind.
Worn books, dog-eared pages, weathered spines cracking and crackling alike.
Chipped nail polish, empty vaseline containers, earrings haphazardly strewn about.
It’s in the doodles that cover a wooden desk, the smear marks around it, and the dents from the chair hitting it the corner.
In the small whine the fan produces when it’s been on too long, the burnt out lightbulb in the bathroom.
The one poster that never seems to stick to the wall.
The bottles of water piling up in the corner, waiting to be thrown out.
The corner of the bed sheet coming off, the ever-growing amount of stains on the old comforter.
I discover it in the unfinished paintings long forgotten, in the dim haze of my nightlight.
I see it in the sleepless nights, the restless nights.
It’s in the melatonin bottle, laying next to the sleep aromatherapy.
In the mirror stained with grimaces, in the pungent scent of defeat lingering in the room.
Never too far, but far enough. Comforting, but agitating.
Everything, yet nothing.
  
  
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