Sunday, August 18, 2013
I request a refund. To walk in crowds hurts me. I stand under the trees dangling thick strands of moss and look up, inhaling. I hope this breath will last me. And this one.
The water swirls in the sink. I swirl the water with my fingers. I am watching the water swirling.
I brush my teeth with my brother's toothpaste. I am accustomed to baking soda and castille soap. Instead it's like rubbing sugar over my teeth, hoping they won't rot.
The kombucha has fallen in the driveway. It is covered with small twigs and fizzing. He carries it inside at arm's length. I rinse the twigs into the garbage disposal. I remember that I do not have a garbage disposal. I look at the debris in the center of the sink. I walk back to the armchair and sit down. I hope no one will notice.
There's something in this refrigerator that's gone bad.
I run. Girl with a greyhound and tattoos on both calves. Three attempts at hello. Three failures.
There is a large mirror across from the toilet. I watch my shadow peeing. I am surprised by how small I look, sitting there. If I think about leaving I will cry again.
You cried the first time?
There is too much loving in me.
The words I am reading scare me. I cannot decide whether it is good to be scared. I want to drink and fuck in the woods. I do not like to have sex when I'm drunk. I don't know if I am bored or repenting. I can call everything many things, but none at the same time as the other. It is the same way with feelings.