they’ll clap when you’re gone

The start of Fall, Libra season. 

The last time anything felt “normal” was in March—Pisces season, when the planets were in retrograde and I was at a bar at midnight on a Wednesday after a shift at work.

Today, I am unemployed, sober, and looking forward to the equinox and all the memories this time of year brings.

Usually, it’s a musical nostalgia.

Back in 2013, I was playing Pain is Beauty by Chelsea Wolfe more times than I will ever know. 

When music is medicine, I imbibe—I overdose.

Hiss Spun also came out during the equinox in 2017, a year where everything changed.

That was the year I participated in my first poetry reading ever. I had never even considered going outside of my apartment with my words, let alone say that shit out loud, but there I was, drunk and in a room full of people, one of them was to become my husband ten months later.

Music sets a timeline, it brings with it seasons and the scents of whatever lived in the back of your throat when you were too afraid to swallow. 

I usually thrive during the summer. I enjoy the suffering of heatwaves and insomnia. 

I love listening to the hot waves of cars and the predictable screams of drunk lovers. 

Birth of Violence came out during this time last year, on my grandfather’s death day and my husband’s father’s death day.

Oh coincidence, it feels so good. 

Numbers follow us.

We drove to the cemetery where I will one day be buried and looked at the land we own, prickly and unkempt, a statue of an Apostle nearby, my grandfather a few feet away. 

Rotting corpse, nothing but bones now, while I’m stepping lovingly on his grave, alive and paranoid at what I ate earlier that day and afraid of the two beers I had in his honor. 

And in one year, everything changed.

Now, most are more dead than alive these days. My beautiful grandfather has more soul in his grave than these regurgitated corpses I see when I drive around to go to the grocery store. 

I don’t miss my old life of bad customers and clueless managers.

Of verbal abuse and the occasional sexual harassment.

I don’t miss traffic or crowds.

I do however, miss cemeteries and being able to breathe and smile into the wind and not care who catches it.

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