I want a cigarette after that sex.
I'm on my period and its messy. Brown like nutrient rich earth after a good rain.
My phone never rings when I'm available and my legs will never shave themselves.
I will know when the time is right... why do I always want to rush it?
The plastic jangles. I forget my earrings are there @ the sides of my throat, until I brush them accidentally.
These actions coincide with my phone not ringing and the remembrance of needing to pluck eyebrows.
I ask my boyfriend not to drink so much at happy hour so he can pick me up tonight. He won't make any promises. It's Friday.
I start a new book.
The book store, there are so many people to write to, lonely. Only one person responded to my ad. I like forgetting that I've done those kinds of things.
If I was different, would I make new friends?
My hair works its way into my ear like a pressure, a thought that tickles the side of my reality. Quiet hair dusted and stuck, made loud against strands grown from the top. Brothers and sisters of another topography.
I'm eighteen.
I want to drink cold pink wine with my boyfriend in a bedroom in my hometown. I want him to visit me in his past so I can say his name & kiss him and call him my boyfriend. ...and then he can melt away in the morning.
I don't wear socks that often. And I don't have a reason why, other than it looks real cool, and I guess my feet like to get intimate with the sides of my shoes.
I wear a skirt today. Winter feels good on all the things I'm not covering.
The ballad radio at twelve twenty five.
My chin crushed into the pillow, staring at the rain.
That girl I remember from many previous summers in her bedroom on her bed watching the rain thinking about her dead pet. I pushed her door open and walked past and took the glance of her from behind that she'll never know.
From that I have all this- a head full of bedrooms and ballads. A piece of rain shuddered against glass near long brown hair and ass in denim.
Sometimes its so curious how we have all in one day, a noon and a night.
