Swimming in the Dark

by Tomasz Jedrowski

clothes lying around the floor like unfinished thoughts.

I don’t know whether I ever want you to read this, but I know that I need to write it. Because you’ve been on my mind for too long. Ever since that day, twelve months ago, when I got on a plane and flew through the thick layers of cloud across the ocean. A year since I saw you, a year that has felt like limbo—ever since then, I’ve been lying to myself. And now that I am stuck here, in the dreadful safety of America, while our country is falling apart, I am done with pretending that I’ve erased you from my mind. Some things cannot be erased through silence. Some people have that power over you, whether you like it or not.

They’re like guillotines, cutting your life in two, the dead and the alive, the before and the after.

the word falling from her lips like a two-limbed snake, dangerous and exciting.

I felt both free and protected in his company.

Sharp memories knocked on the door of my consciousness,

There were times when I’d get on the tram and ride across the city. I would get off at the last stop, in a neighborhood where no one knew me, and I’d wander, not thinking, looking at the unknown streets and houses and people and feeling free and anonymous. Like an unwritten piece of paper.