The image of the house slowly filling is such a clear way to show what anxiety feels like from the inside. I was especially struck by “Some rooms still breathe” and that attic pocket of air, because that’s often how it is, not all gone, just submerged in parts. The line about half-drowning and half-surviving feels painfully familiar. The questions you ask near the end linger in a powerful way. This is haunting and beautifully controlled.
The image of the house slowly filling is such a clear way to show what anxiety feels like from the inside. I was especially struck by “Some rooms still breathe” and that attic pocket of air, because that’s often how it is, not all gone, just submerged in parts. The line about half-drowning and half-surviving feels painfully familiar. The questions you ask near the end linger in a powerful way. This is haunting and beautifully controlled.
Love this. Wonderful writing on something so potentially somber
Fires and floods are confusing, whether they are forging us or drowning us.
I think of a house, made of yellow, filled with butterflies, the bad feelings can’t get into this house
I enter my rainbow house when I’m anxious or overthinking
I’m thinking of tattooing this house