for the longest time

i couldn't read a book for the longest time. because that meant sitting down, breathing slowly, and thinking. that meant pain. and it also meant you. we used to do that.

for the longest time i couldn't make home. put up things. hang things. i could only relate to my things as temporary objects, that would not stay where they now were. because they didn't belong there.

to hang a picture on the wall meant saying to myself that i lived somewhere, and it was here. that meant pain.