I had finished my landmark seminar and hopped a MUNI, heading back to The Castro for gas station coffee and a smoke. It was Sunday night, then Monday the next day. Aaron was going o come soon, at some point, pick me up. I may have ridden the bus Saturday night. The ticket may be from Sunday morning. Time has a way of transporting memories to more convenient historical settings, memory amends itself.
Living with a sociopath narrsiscist nearly stole my breath and stopped my heart.
The months following and all the confused pain of loving an unlovable in an unlivable situation was important. I remember the final weeks or months. they would stretch into hours, minutes that is. Time can be so relative in the moment it becomes progressively more challenging to accept its passing.
Saying things like: if I am bad he will lock me in the basement. No windows, one door. More a bunker than a basement, cinderbock.
Fifteen years could pass me gasping for three solid legs, the triangle of stability needs at least three consistent points of contact to remain balanced, firm, grounded.
After six months of breathing the same air, I came to know I needed more than oxygen to survive. The air was the same always, stagnant recycled arguments, broken cars, dishes, dreams.
I faded into a shadow of myself, became my name's sake: shade-shifter. I am the shadow shaded savannah; I am the ghost's twin; Rapunzel's locks.
I came out an ember, smouldering and malnourished from the tepid air; on fire, not blazing: a coal nestled deep in the safety of a pocket, that's the fire bearer's responsibility. 
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