Wednesday, July 23, 2014


In Vancouver, we wait for the "big one," never knowing when it could come, nervously joking about it at parties when the small talk has run dry but the wine hasn't. And beyond stashing bottled water and batteries, there is precious little we can do.
And I live, perched permanently in a seismically unsound body, not knowing which rumblings will cause life as I know it to crumble, too numb to feel the aftershocks.
[I am afraid that one morning, I will wake up and never feel my legs again, never having had the chance to say goodbye.]