Linger Not
This year,
This senior year is the first.
This is my first year of adomania;
A type of mania only so much talked of,
Found in lists of rare words.
Adomania, how I’d forget thee.
How in these moments,
To the shame of myself, the author, the writer, the wordsmith-
The ego-
I wish that I could forget the word.
Or perhaps remember it in the same way as I remember
Petrichor
I wish, like petrichor, it came as a word too good
Not as one too familiar.
No, this is not so.
This year is the first true year adomania, I find.
And I fear the future that is
Too close too close too close.
Half way done, it can’t be.
I don’t want it to be.
I can’t stand the thought of it being over.
I yearn to escape,
Escape what? The feeling, the institution.
I can’t say.
Is this the speed of the rest of my life?
Going too fast
Slow down, but also.
Don’t.
The world keeps going and I hesitate.
The world keeps going, and I hesitate.
I want to dig in my heels
I want to forget adomania
And zenosyne
(Time is just as slow as it ever was, I swear I know).
I find myself in these words too
Too
Too well.
I linger on them.
Linger on them longer than I linger in any second
Longer than any moment
Long enough to find myself in the words because
Where else might I linger at all.
I want to do so much.
I want to do nothing at all.
I want to never have to sleep.
I want to not wake so soon.
I want to be an author a writer a wordsmith
I want to not be the ego.
I’ve found myself a year of adomania for the first time,
I don’t know if there will be another.
Can’t say it’s really the first.
Adomania compounded
By zenosyne.
Words I did not know mere minutes ago and now use
Like I know how they deserve to be used
But what else might I do.
When this year, just started halfway through already,
Will end
Will end in five twelve months or
Perhaps
Perhaps it won’t end ever.
And what discomfort I find from adomania will be a joke
Or it’ll end all too fast
All too soon
All too
And the adomania will be true
And will still be a joke.