Saturday, February 18, 2006
to the person who did not steal my whiskey last weekend, but rather hid it in the freezer: i extend my gratitude. it's cold out baby and that hobo juice is needed for warmth.
to the girl who rolled her eyes at me for not making her a latte after closing: i extend my apologies. truly, i failed to see your importance. truly, i implore your forgiveness. (subtext: you're a stupid whore and i'll slap you in public.)
to you: i'll explain everything, someday. until then it's all context. it's all syntax and sounds. i'm insane and none of this is real. it can't be.
to the pain: you are real. and for now, i'm keeping you.
to the girl who rolled her eyes at me for not making her a latte after closing: i extend my apologies. truly, i failed to see your importance. truly, i implore your forgiveness. (subtext: you're a stupid whore and i'll slap you in public.)
to you: i'll explain everything, someday. until then it's all context. it's all syntax and sounds. i'm insane and none of this is real. it can't be.
to the pain: you are real. and for now, i'm keeping you.
all those fragments of sentences.
my eyes are flickering in the low light and my fingertips drum along my thigh.
there is something about you that i can feel like hot and cold. your words give blow after blow and i willingly turn my cheek towards them.
our conversation is luxurious, sumptuous and fragrant. to listen is to taste every syllable. we have a secret club, you and i. no one sees us at the party. no one hears me laugh. i throw my head back and clutch my bundled sweater closer to my chest.
and i can tell, from a mile away, that i was meant to know you.
(i wasn't there for you. so much later.
perhaps it's better not to fall into such old habits.
but still, sometimes, i imagine that it will be me that saves you.
it will be me that stops your hands from shaking.)
my eyes are flickering in the low light and my fingertips drum along my thigh.
there is something about you that i can feel like hot and cold. your words give blow after blow and i willingly turn my cheek towards them.
our conversation is luxurious, sumptuous and fragrant. to listen is to taste every syllable. we have a secret club, you and i. no one sees us at the party. no one hears me laugh. i throw my head back and clutch my bundled sweater closer to my chest.
and i can tell, from a mile away, that i was meant to know you.
(i wasn't there for you. so much later.
perhaps it's better not to fall into such old habits.
but still, sometimes, i imagine that it will be me that saves you.
it will be me that stops your hands from shaking.)
Friday, February 03, 2006
when i look back, it was the immediacy of it.
it kept us together.
it made us whole.
it kept us together.
it made us whole.
Thursday, February 02, 2006
i let my fingertips streak across the glass beside me. the engine made a popping noise, off-beat and in mysterious syncopation with the hiphop that thumped and scratched out of the speakers. i pretended to like it as much as you. i nodded my head, knowingly, in my own little-white-girl way. and who even owned that fucking car? with it's red interior that emitted little mushroom clouds of dust upon contact, broken seatbelts and lone side mirror. i sucked on a cigarette and blew smoke at the dusty, red roof.
we had taken the car to the lake at lunch, stripping down behind trees and getting twigs in our shoes. the seats were wet and smelled like rot. you let your hair fall into your eyes while your cigarette dangled perilously from your lips. i watched you from the backseat and dragged my dirty hands across the window. that afternoon, i sat through two classes, remembering your mouth.
we had taken the car to the lake at lunch, stripping down behind trees and getting twigs in our shoes. the seats were wet and smelled like rot. you let your hair fall into your eyes while your cigarette dangled perilously from your lips. i watched you from the backseat and dragged my dirty hands across the window. that afternoon, i sat through two classes, remembering your mouth.
