i know i haven’t posted anything of my own in a while but i’ve been busy having a life and becoming a doctor and shit
so here’s some writing, if you don’t like it you can s my d
i don’t know what else to do with it because it’s been sitting on my computer screen stagnant for days. so. maybe posting it will make me stop thinking about it.
sometimes i can convince myself that things never happened. no, no, we never knew each other. yes, yes, i’ve been asleep for my whole life.
this morning i overwatered my plants, and then counted the minutes until the roots collected the surplus. i wrung my hands into the pots. when i was a child i liked to peel off the bark of twigs strewn on the ground; when i got one that was green inside i mourned its untimely death. yesterday i saw a picture of you, your hair has gotten long. i remember cutting it on the grass, i remember the prickly feeling of fresh cut hair in my hands, on my chest, arms, your shoulders, back. you lay facedown on the bed as i drew constellations with your freckles. i wanted to wake up next to you, just one more time, but i wouldn’t let myself, you wouldn’t let me. so i will remain satisfied by waking up to disappearing numbers, to the silence of determination, to forgetting you are leaving. i knew you, really knew you, the way a real smoker knows to hold the cigarette at the filter down near the crease of the fingers. the yellowing of the skin, the fading of memory, the smoke filling the bottom of the lungs. the terrible sound of me and him, me and anyone else, the inconsistency of our voices, our body our hands and lips and skin, and sex is terrible and i think maybe i’m the problem, but then i woke up next to you one more time and the sound was breaking dishes, loud and satisfying and painful and i wanted to hear it again, and again, it sounds like your voice.
