The last time I saw him was last night.
I didn't actually see him, but I saw his silhouette in the car next to me at a stop light.He hides inside tinted windows, but I knew he could see me. It wasn't my car that I was driving, and he was in a different car too. A tan van I've never seen before. Maybe our cars broke down at the same time, and now we've both gotten new ones. With tinted windows.
This was just a few days after I saw an ad in the newspaper that said, Models wanted. I cut it out and made it into art. I cut out a picture of myself then cut out some ears from a magazine and some hair to disguise myself. I hung it on the wall in my room and thought about the time when he waved at me from the window of his old car as he drove by me on the sidewalk. I remember the dress I was wearing, and my black tights and ear muffs which blocked out 85% of every sound.
I thought about what it would be like to live in a disguise.
But sometimes I feel as if I already have one. I knew this was true when I bought a pink cardigan sweater from Goodwill and walked around with it on. This sweater was unusual because it was very big. It was only two dollars, and I thought, if I bought it, maybe it would look different at home. I paid for it in pennies---200 of them. They had collected on the floor of my closet.
And I have been collecting large clothing---hand me downs, new fashionable shirt dresses that are so big they barely touch my skin. That is how they are supposed to fit, they told me.
But I feel so small tonight. I'm sick with a sore throat and headache, but I still went out to roam by myself. It's rainy and overcast. It's dark. It's even dark outside and inside of me.
I was wearing the cardigan, and I knew he was in the back corner of this book store, wearing a hat even though he was inside. I knew this because I saw him, but he didn't see me, so I walked away and paced in the "religion" section. If he had come over to me, there in the "religion" section and put his arms around me, he would have felt my shape underneath my oversized sweater. He would have drawn me to him and pressed the sweater to my skin, and I would have felt warm and I would have felt beautiful. I would have felt wanted.
I would have driven home with the windows down.
Saturday, December 19, 2009
I came into the room
and he was there
Painting
the walls, the window was open
And light mixed perfectly with the yellow
He said
Take off your shoes
And they were off--- the furniture had been moved
And we’re barefoot on the tan carpet
He takes the paint and writes
US
On the wall in yellow
I can feel
The carpet under my feet
There’s room to run--- I rub my hand
against the word, and it’s gone
I rub my hand on his arm
And it’s gone
Blended in with the wall, and he spreads
paint through my hair
and splatters it across my face and clothes
And I splatter back
picking up paint and flinging it
soft at first, then harder and harder
Until we cannot see each other any more
And he only sees me against the white of the door
as I walk away to clean up
And go home
and he was there
Painting
the walls, the window was open
And light mixed perfectly with the yellow
He said
Take off your shoes
And they were off--- the furniture had been moved
And we’re barefoot on the tan carpet
He takes the paint and writes
US
On the wall in yellow
I can feel
The carpet under my feet
There’s room to run--- I rub my hand
against the word, and it’s gone
I rub my hand on his arm
And it’s gone
Blended in with the wall, and he spreads
paint through my hair
and splatters it across my face and clothes
And I splatter back
picking up paint and flinging it
soft at first, then harder and harder
Until we cannot see each other any more
And he only sees me against the white of the door
as I walk away to clean up
And go home
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Oftentimes I begin to say something then stop because I am convinced no one heard the first part of the sentence. Usually it is a sentence I don't know how to end, so I end it with an "or" or a "but, you know..."And I don't bother finishing because I have a hard time accepting that everything I say out loud can be heard all the time.
This is how I feel about my relationships as well. I begin them, but can't think of what to do next or how it will end. I love on condition, on certainty, then trail off and pretend nothing was between me and the other person. I ask myself this question, how did this strange cycle begin. It began when I met Ryan at the Dreamland Star Sleep Center.
He was a chronic insomniac, and it impressed me that he knew what he was. I didn't know what I was. My sleep disorder didn't fall into one category, it was based on an uncontrollable fear.
This is what happened. I didn't have nightmares, but in the middle of the night I would wake up, panicked. This usually occurred at approximately 2 AM. I would wake, stricken with the fear that everyone else in the world was dead, and if I went back to sleep, I would die too. I never thought this way during the day, in fact I would leave notes on my bedside table to remind myself that this was impossible. In the morning, these notes were balled up in my front yard.
They admitted me into the facility just after Ryan. They thought my irrational 2 AM fear was the result of nightmares I couldn't remember I dreamt.
I loved Ryan instantly for being a chronic insomniac. He wore the same red hooded sweatshirt every time I saw him, and when I mentioned that I liked his sweatshirt, it felt intimate. As if I knew his entire wardrobe. I knew what he was wearing before I even saw him. Ryan was over six feet tall, but he was thin and his dark blue eyes seemed to carry a few inches farther, so he never seemed too distant. He thought we had the same kind of humor. He told me stories, and said things such as "you would have laughed so hard" or "listen, you're going to think this is hilarious." And he was usually right.
Ryan and I left the facility every morning at 7 AM and went to the McDonald's across the street to discuss our night and eat pancakes. Usually, he had laid awake with the wires attached to his head, thought about his life, and not slept for a moment. You aren't helping, he said. He envied me and my unconscious nightmares. He wanted to hear about them, but I could never remember, not even for him. Occasionally I would get visions I couldn't explain.
A red pair of high heels. An entire city without a single light shining in the dark. A swirling river where the highway should have been.
Did you go swimming?
Ryan didn't understand the terror, but he had a different kind of fear. He said he wondered whether it would ever end. If he would ever sleep again, or be awake for the rest of his life.
Isn't that what everyone wants? I said.
He said it would kill him before long.
This is how I feel about my relationships as well. I begin them, but can't think of what to do next or how it will end. I love on condition, on certainty, then trail off and pretend nothing was between me and the other person. I ask myself this question, how did this strange cycle begin. It began when I met Ryan at the Dreamland Star Sleep Center.
He was a chronic insomniac, and it impressed me that he knew what he was. I didn't know what I was. My sleep disorder didn't fall into one category, it was based on an uncontrollable fear.
This is what happened. I didn't have nightmares, but in the middle of the night I would wake up, panicked. This usually occurred at approximately 2 AM. I would wake, stricken with the fear that everyone else in the world was dead, and if I went back to sleep, I would die too. I never thought this way during the day, in fact I would leave notes on my bedside table to remind myself that this was impossible. In the morning, these notes were balled up in my front yard.
They admitted me into the facility just after Ryan. They thought my irrational 2 AM fear was the result of nightmares I couldn't remember I dreamt.
I loved Ryan instantly for being a chronic insomniac. He wore the same red hooded sweatshirt every time I saw him, and when I mentioned that I liked his sweatshirt, it felt intimate. As if I knew his entire wardrobe. I knew what he was wearing before I even saw him. Ryan was over six feet tall, but he was thin and his dark blue eyes seemed to carry a few inches farther, so he never seemed too distant. He thought we had the same kind of humor. He told me stories, and said things such as "you would have laughed so hard" or "listen, you're going to think this is hilarious." And he was usually right.
Ryan and I left the facility every morning at 7 AM and went to the McDonald's across the street to discuss our night and eat pancakes. Usually, he had laid awake with the wires attached to his head, thought about his life, and not slept for a moment. You aren't helping, he said. He envied me and my unconscious nightmares. He wanted to hear about them, but I could never remember, not even for him. Occasionally I would get visions I couldn't explain.
A red pair of high heels. An entire city without a single light shining in the dark. A swirling river where the highway should have been.
Did you go swimming?
Ryan didn't understand the terror, but he had a different kind of fear. He said he wondered whether it would ever end. If he would ever sleep again, or be awake for the rest of his life.
Isn't that what everyone wants? I said.
He said it would kill him before long.
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
So senior year started.
It started about two weeks ago. I'm wearing the same clothes I wore last year, and the same shoes. They're my favorite shoes--- the brown ones that I found at Good will.
I feel as if nothing has changed, and I'm just so focused on graduating that I'm not even making an effort to make friends. I stay in the background and escape at 1:10 every day, with no homework and, some days, nothing in particular to do. And so this is what I do---
I sit in my room and slowly make my way through a pile of cd's while reading the same book over again, High Fidelity. The last cd I went through was the Replacement's Let it Be. The song about being unsatisfied is my favorite because I am. I'm unsatisfied with my attitude, my lack of motivation, the sameness of my days, my job at Kumon, and the way I rarely do anything I claim to enjoy doing. The way I rely on these activities to give me an identity, and when I lose interest in them, I lose who I am. For instance, I was devoted to learning how to play the ukulele. I told people I played the ukulele, and I did. But not anymore. I can't tell people that anymore. And I can't tell people I enjoy volunteering anymore because I don't do that now. I don't do much of anything now, except listen to music.
That's all I feel qualified to talk about, music. The only way I seem to be able to connect with anybody is through music...it's the way I choose to portray myself, as a girl with good taste in music. I have a hard time revealing my personality, my inner being that experiences the music and doesn't just make reference after reference. I roll off references all the time.
And I identify with my clothes, my ugly shoes and trendy plaid shirts. And my short hair, my books, my image as someone in the background. And it seems as though I've put myself in the background of my mind.
And the false sense of self is taking over. This fake, numb existence that replaces the life I felt last summer when I was in the mountains. When I felt powerful and beautiful and like I could take on anything. Like there was another side of myself...one that stood on its own without relying on labels I've put on myself. The part of me that wasn't afraid of people or myself or failure. The part that didn't hesitate to admit I was afraid.
And so afraid. Afraid of not living with purpose, afraid of having other people depend on me, afraid of letting everyone down, afraid of living for anyone except myself. Because I want to feel the emotions I hear in songs, and I want to risk loving someone, and I want to risk losing the attachments to what's accepted in this society to find my own version of happiness.
I want other people to be angry with me.
It started about two weeks ago. I'm wearing the same clothes I wore last year, and the same shoes. They're my favorite shoes--- the brown ones that I found at Good will.
I feel as if nothing has changed, and I'm just so focused on graduating that I'm not even making an effort to make friends. I stay in the background and escape at 1:10 every day, with no homework and, some days, nothing in particular to do. And so this is what I do---
I sit in my room and slowly make my way through a pile of cd's while reading the same book over again, High Fidelity. The last cd I went through was the Replacement's Let it Be. The song about being unsatisfied is my favorite because I am. I'm unsatisfied with my attitude, my lack of motivation, the sameness of my days, my job at Kumon, and the way I rarely do anything I claim to enjoy doing. The way I rely on these activities to give me an identity, and when I lose interest in them, I lose who I am. For instance, I was devoted to learning how to play the ukulele. I told people I played the ukulele, and I did. But not anymore. I can't tell people that anymore. And I can't tell people I enjoy volunteering anymore because I don't do that now. I don't do much of anything now, except listen to music.
That's all I feel qualified to talk about, music. The only way I seem to be able to connect with anybody is through music...it's the way I choose to portray myself, as a girl with good taste in music. I have a hard time revealing my personality, my inner being that experiences the music and doesn't just make reference after reference. I roll off references all the time.
And I identify with my clothes, my ugly shoes and trendy plaid shirts. And my short hair, my books, my image as someone in the background. And it seems as though I've put myself in the background of my mind.
And the false sense of self is taking over. This fake, numb existence that replaces the life I felt last summer when I was in the mountains. When I felt powerful and beautiful and like I could take on anything. Like there was another side of myself...one that stood on its own without relying on labels I've put on myself. The part of me that wasn't afraid of people or myself or failure. The part that didn't hesitate to admit I was afraid.
And so afraid. Afraid of not living with purpose, afraid of having other people depend on me, afraid of letting everyone down, afraid of living for anyone except myself. Because I want to feel the emotions I hear in songs, and I want to risk loving someone, and I want to risk losing the attachments to what's accepted in this society to find my own version of happiness.
I want other people to be angry with me.
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
It started out as an amusing thought about never telling anyone the truth again.
What if I could do this? If I were to lie about everything in my life forever, what would happen. I pictured the confusion, yet some kind of incredible new world formed entirely by lies. I pictured myself in a blissful state, yet the world around me in disarray and the terror on your face. I wouldn't be telling you these things if I wanted you to like me, in fact, these are the kinds of things I wouldn't tell anyone connected in my life.
These dreams always started with you around, but you had no idea. I'm going to tell you now, I wasn't laughing at you. It was all in your mind, it was all in my head.
The first dream came to me when I was sitting on a bench, waiting for you in the mall. There was a girl handing out samples of lemonade. I watched her doing this--- she didn't move her feet at all. And then I thought about what would happen if I walked up to her and flipped the tray. She wouldn't have seen it coming, and neither would I. I thought about how funny this would be, and I was laughing when you sat down beside me.
You asked, What was funny, and I said, You.
That was a lie, but you believed it, I know you did. Now you lie and say you didn't because you know the truth about me.
The truth about the day at the drive-through. I was driving, and we were being handed ice cream cones. I gave you yours, then smiled. I didn't smile at you--- I was just thinking about how amazing it would be if I threw my ice cream cone at the drive through guy. He had glasses, so the ice cream would have smudged his glasses. Maybe this is why I didn't do it, or maybe it was because you were there with me, and I didn't want to seem cruel.
But I think it was fate.
I was having these visions of total chaos. The first two incidents were innocent enough, but soon I escaped further into this strange area of my mind. You said you thought that you were losing me, but I said I loved you more than ever. You saw the anxiety, I grew nervous. I left you to protect you, I said.
From what.
I knew what on a Tuesday night driving home from your house. My car is the type of car without automatic lights, so I turned them on and saw you standing in the driveway. It was your shadow on the garage door that I focused on. It exaggerated your movements. I exaggerated your movements in my mind. The way you spoke, the way you put your arm around me--- I was dark in your shadow.
About five minutes from your house that night was when the anxiety struck. I stared at my thumbs, wrapped around the wheel, and realized that I could easily just turn my wrists to the right and hit a tree. I was afraid I would do it. I knew I wouldn't, but I could. Maybe I didn't know myself, maybe I am the type of person that would do this sort of thing.
What was I doing. I couldn't be with other people. I couldn't be left alone.
And this is why I'm telling you these things. About how I have the power to kill at any moment, the power to ruin anyone's day, how can you trust me? I don't trust me.
Now it's been a week. I'm on the same bench and you're walking across the mall, slowly, slowly, I'm trying to control the dark side of my mind. The side that's picturing me running to you. The side that shows me kissing you, like in a movie.
How do I know this wouldn't be instant death.
What if I could do this? If I were to lie about everything in my life forever, what would happen. I pictured the confusion, yet some kind of incredible new world formed entirely by lies. I pictured myself in a blissful state, yet the world around me in disarray and the terror on your face. I wouldn't be telling you these things if I wanted you to like me, in fact, these are the kinds of things I wouldn't tell anyone connected in my life.
These dreams always started with you around, but you had no idea. I'm going to tell you now, I wasn't laughing at you. It was all in your mind, it was all in my head.
The first dream came to me when I was sitting on a bench, waiting for you in the mall. There was a girl handing out samples of lemonade. I watched her doing this--- she didn't move her feet at all. And then I thought about what would happen if I walked up to her and flipped the tray. She wouldn't have seen it coming, and neither would I. I thought about how funny this would be, and I was laughing when you sat down beside me.
You asked, What was funny, and I said, You.
That was a lie, but you believed it, I know you did. Now you lie and say you didn't because you know the truth about me.
The truth about the day at the drive-through. I was driving, and we were being handed ice cream cones. I gave you yours, then smiled. I didn't smile at you--- I was just thinking about how amazing it would be if I threw my ice cream cone at the drive through guy. He had glasses, so the ice cream would have smudged his glasses. Maybe this is why I didn't do it, or maybe it was because you were there with me, and I didn't want to seem cruel.
But I think it was fate.
I was having these visions of total chaos. The first two incidents were innocent enough, but soon I escaped further into this strange area of my mind. You said you thought that you were losing me, but I said I loved you more than ever. You saw the anxiety, I grew nervous. I left you to protect you, I said.
From what.
I knew what on a Tuesday night driving home from your house. My car is the type of car without automatic lights, so I turned them on and saw you standing in the driveway. It was your shadow on the garage door that I focused on. It exaggerated your movements. I exaggerated your movements in my mind. The way you spoke, the way you put your arm around me--- I was dark in your shadow.
About five minutes from your house that night was when the anxiety struck. I stared at my thumbs, wrapped around the wheel, and realized that I could easily just turn my wrists to the right and hit a tree. I was afraid I would do it. I knew I wouldn't, but I could. Maybe I didn't know myself, maybe I am the type of person that would do this sort of thing.
What was I doing. I couldn't be with other people. I couldn't be left alone.
And this is why I'm telling you these things. About how I have the power to kill at any moment, the power to ruin anyone's day, how can you trust me? I don't trust me.
Now it's been a week. I'm on the same bench and you're walking across the mall, slowly, slowly, I'm trying to control the dark side of my mind. The side that's picturing me running to you. The side that shows me kissing you, like in a movie.
How do I know this wouldn't be instant death.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Moments pass by slower when you're waiting.
Sometimes, I wonder what it would be like to always have something to wait for--- something obtainable and approaching. Life would feel longer, and maybe it could seem to last forever.
The mind can change time.
Time changes are odd. I think of time as an ongoing record--- not one that can back up an hour or go forward an hour. What happened to that hour? If you add up all of these time warps when you die, there's probably an entire day or two that you fast-forwarded through. And they take hours away--- you already lived it, but it starts over. And for me this sucks because I'm always sleeping. I would like to be awake and do an hour over again.
I would like to do this past year over again and be friendlier and more confident. I can think of one moment in particular.
I passed him in the hallway, and he had noticed that I dyed my hair over the weekend. It was 10 o'clock.
Yeah, I did dye it.
I like it.
Tha-anks (walking slowly). I could be anyone now, you know? It's like putting on a disguise. Maybe I've suddenly become an 80's punk rock fanatic, you wouldn't know would you.
No, I wouldn't.
At this moment, 10:02, I walked away, saying something existential and stopping halfway through the sentence. I tend to do this--- I start saying something and imagine that no one else can hear it because it's not a complete thought in my head. I have a hard time accepting that everything I say is actually heard by other people. What I should have done, if there was a time warp right then, was out of nowhere told him I was in love with him. It would have been entirely shocking.
I do like daylight, but I don't think we should try to change time to get more daylight. We should instead change our schedules and do everything earlier or later because time is related to the speed of the eart and the earth doesn't stop revolving ever and we keep moving on because of this.
Even when I resist moving on.
When I dwell.
I dwell too much. I should build myself a dwelling out of rocks and hide from the daylight and decide what time it is. And maybe I decide it's always 8 in the morning so that I can keep mentally preparing for my day forever and living out the future in my head. It gets to be 8:01, but then I just jump back to 8. I miss a million appointments and obligations because the world doesn't know about my dark dwelling or my time change.
It's day when it's bright, but in the dwelling it's dark all of the time. It's a dark 8 AM--- my favorite kind because I don't have to see anything yet,
One of those dim mornings, and I have to watch for cars because no one can see me, even though I see them. The lights are in my eyes, but the lights cast a shadow behind me. I wave my arms, and my arms appear distorted on the pavement. My shadow could be anyone. I could be anyone.
Sometimes, I wonder what it would be like to always have something to wait for--- something obtainable and approaching. Life would feel longer, and maybe it could seem to last forever.
The mind can change time.
Time changes are odd. I think of time as an ongoing record--- not one that can back up an hour or go forward an hour. What happened to that hour? If you add up all of these time warps when you die, there's probably an entire day or two that you fast-forwarded through. And they take hours away--- you already lived it, but it starts over. And for me this sucks because I'm always sleeping. I would like to be awake and do an hour over again.
I would like to do this past year over again and be friendlier and more confident. I can think of one moment in particular.
I passed him in the hallway, and he had noticed that I dyed my hair over the weekend. It was 10 o'clock.
Yeah, I did dye it.
I like it.
Tha-anks (walking slowly). I could be anyone now, you know? It's like putting on a disguise. Maybe I've suddenly become an 80's punk rock fanatic, you wouldn't know would you.
No, I wouldn't.
At this moment, 10:02, I walked away, saying something existential and stopping halfway through the sentence. I tend to do this--- I start saying something and imagine that no one else can hear it because it's not a complete thought in my head. I have a hard time accepting that everything I say is actually heard by other people. What I should have done, if there was a time warp right then, was out of nowhere told him I was in love with him. It would have been entirely shocking.
I do like daylight, but I don't think we should try to change time to get more daylight. We should instead change our schedules and do everything earlier or later because time is related to the speed of the eart and the earth doesn't stop revolving ever and we keep moving on because of this.
Even when I resist moving on.
When I dwell.
I dwell too much. I should build myself a dwelling out of rocks and hide from the daylight and decide what time it is. And maybe I decide it's always 8 in the morning so that I can keep mentally preparing for my day forever and living out the future in my head. It gets to be 8:01, but then I just jump back to 8. I miss a million appointments and obligations because the world doesn't know about my dark dwelling or my time change.
It's day when it's bright, but in the dwelling it's dark all of the time. It's a dark 8 AM--- my favorite kind because I don't have to see anything yet,
One of those dim mornings, and I have to watch for cars because no one can see me, even though I see them. The lights are in my eyes, but the lights cast a shadow behind me. I wave my arms, and my arms appear distorted on the pavement. My shadow could be anyone. I could be anyone.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
I tried to look nice today.
I went out, looking for a job again, and I put make up on for the first time in weeks. I'm driving a green pontiac now, and I've lost all of my tapes. They were in my old car. They're still in my old car. The radio said that U93 is having a new evolution, and I know what that feels like because I am too. I just don't have the same voice down.
Here's a list of everywhere I went: Dairy Queen, Between the Buns, Macri's, Old Navy, Logan's, Cici's, Red Robin, Houlihan's, Hacienda, Olive Garden, and Culver's. It was extremely hot, especially when I walked across the Old Navy parking lot. I imagined myself as someone driving in a car and seeing myself walking through the parking lot.
I've been doing this a lot recently--- having these out of body experiences. This may be because I feel so unrooted at this time in my life. I have no responsibilities and everything to believe in but no chance to act on anything. I've stopped wearing eye makeup and stopped looking fashionable, making myself into someone that could be anyone. Because I can be anyone, because I can make myself believe in anything. Because I am just treading water until I can leave this town and become someone entirely different--- now, I am in between two people. One was imaginary and the next is real.
And right now I just really need a job. I'm always asked about my special skills, which I have discovered I have a lot of. I always put something different. For instance, when I was applying to Aerie, I wrote that I have a "gift" in tying ribbon and an unbelievably soothing voice. I figured that's what they look for in an employee. Maybe I was wrong--- they haven't called me yet, but I don't think I was. And I can also predict the future, which I like to make known. I know what people are going to say before they say it. I know what they mean.
I just never know what I'm going to say.
I went out, looking for a job again, and I put make up on for the first time in weeks. I'm driving a green pontiac now, and I've lost all of my tapes. They were in my old car. They're still in my old car. The radio said that U93 is having a new evolution, and I know what that feels like because I am too. I just don't have the same voice down.
Here's a list of everywhere I went: Dairy Queen, Between the Buns, Macri's, Old Navy, Logan's, Cici's, Red Robin, Houlihan's, Hacienda, Olive Garden, and Culver's. It was extremely hot, especially when I walked across the Old Navy parking lot. I imagined myself as someone driving in a car and seeing myself walking through the parking lot.
I've been doing this a lot recently--- having these out of body experiences. This may be because I feel so unrooted at this time in my life. I have no responsibilities and everything to believe in but no chance to act on anything. I've stopped wearing eye makeup and stopped looking fashionable, making myself into someone that could be anyone. Because I can be anyone, because I can make myself believe in anything. Because I am just treading water until I can leave this town and become someone entirely different--- now, I am in between two people. One was imaginary and the next is real.
And right now I just really need a job. I'm always asked about my special skills, which I have discovered I have a lot of. I always put something different. For instance, when I was applying to Aerie, I wrote that I have a "gift" in tying ribbon and an unbelievably soothing voice. I figured that's what they look for in an employee. Maybe I was wrong--- they haven't called me yet, but I don't think I was. And I can also predict the future, which I like to make known. I know what people are going to say before they say it. I know what they mean.
I just never know what I'm going to say.
Friday, August 7, 2009
Most nights I feel as if I'm not inside any walls. The cars that pass on the street outside sound like they are right next to me, and I hear the birds as if they are in the room with me, and I am not protected by anything.I am out in it, out in the night, yet I am seperated. I don't feel the wind, only hear it, and everything is still and artificially lit and safe. I am safe.
I hear the train whistle as if I am on that train, only without the risk of the crash because it's all in my head. The people rushing by, the trees and the towns, the train coming towards my train, and you on the sidewalk before the crash.
And I feel nothing before you disappear from my sight, maybe forever.
You weren't the only one that made promises to live forever. In fact, you were number three. You said I was another kind of person, the kind that would never die because I had something in me. I argued that there was nothing in anyone and nothing in anything, that everything was small.
Never get used to anything, I said.
The most important thing you ever did for me was introduce me to coffee, which I said I hated. I hated the smell of it on your breath. But you told me I wasn't supposed to like it, that no one likes it the first time they taste it, yet they come to like it over time.
And maybe I would too. You poured me a glass, and I forced it down because you said I had something in me.
When you left, the only thing I ever drank was coffee. I drank it every morning, all day, even at night, so I stayed awake for hours waiting for you in the dark. I even got splitting head aches when I stopped drinking coffee. They knew my name in the cafe, but spelled it wrong on the cup.
And now I don't even taste the aftertaste.
I hear the train whistle as if I am on that train, only without the risk of the crash because it's all in my head. The people rushing by, the trees and the towns, the train coming towards my train, and you on the sidewalk before the crash.
And I feel nothing before you disappear from my sight, maybe forever.
You weren't the only one that made promises to live forever. In fact, you were number three. You said I was another kind of person, the kind that would never die because I had something in me. I argued that there was nothing in anyone and nothing in anything, that everything was small.
Never get used to anything, I said.
The most important thing you ever did for me was introduce me to coffee, which I said I hated. I hated the smell of it on your breath. But you told me I wasn't supposed to like it, that no one likes it the first time they taste it, yet they come to like it over time.
And maybe I would too. You poured me a glass, and I forced it down because you said I had something in me.
When you left, the only thing I ever drank was coffee. I drank it every morning, all day, even at night, so I stayed awake for hours waiting for you in the dark. I even got splitting head aches when I stopped drinking coffee. They knew my name in the cafe, but spelled it wrong on the cup.
And now I don't even taste the aftertaste.
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