THE PREGNANCY JOURNAL
Planet of origin:XXXXXXXXXXXxSchumann resonances meant home to us.
First cravings:XXXXXXXXXXXXxOnce I lost my appetite for nine months straight.
The dimension of time:XXXXXXXMy mama would read the future in coffee grounds.
First vision:XXXXXXXXXXXXXX.Disposable camera aesthetic.
The dimension of space:XXXXXX.Raindrops roll down the dirty yellow walls.
17th week:XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXxCelebrations for the universal lover.
First euphemism:XXXXXXXXXXx“Is he traveling or is he sleeping rough?”
Structure of the first nightmare:XXHighly elliptical.
The dimension of mind:XXXXXXxThis baby is an itinerary itself. Its dreams are nothing,
XXXXXXXXXXxXXXXXXXXXXxxanything. So gentle, so oblivious. It was conceived by
XXXXXXXXXXxXXXXXXXXXXxxthe limbs of my dreams. The growing dreams of some
January—I sat with my eyes wide open in the dark and listened to your fireworks.
February—I killed myself already.
March—I woke up to snow in my hospital bed.
April—three days have passed without any dreaming—we met.
May—I turned twenty-four and this was enough for you to be mad.
June—the machine guns and your playlist scared me to death.
July—skies were made from an illusionary surface.
August—the solar eclipse was as hostile as the universe.
September—you handed me blue cotton candy. “Doom times, honey.”
October—you said you’ve been visualizing my legs as they walk, “Because I like it when the Earth revolves.”
November—you’ve lost your speech, or your plane’s been hijacked.
December—I’m sitting in the dark with my eyes open, mistaking the fluorescent lamps for spirit glows.