September 28, 2011

There are so many things to consider. High school children acting like adults smoking cigarettes like adults. I’m so bored.

A coffee stained library book I’m reading on a Sunday morning. The kitchen is flooded with sunlight. Everything is glowing, white, yellow. I think about knocking over my mug, just to know that the tea I made today would stain this paper, a piece of me had become a part of that. Every place that I go, I’m desperate to leave some of myself behind. I watch a long light hair fall from my shoulder to the floor. I want it to stay there.

My thoughts wander until they end up where they always do. My mind is an endless maze with no way out and every dead end is you. Tears roll up my face and back into my eyes. I run a kitchen knife across my right arm and it takes away the mark. I spend months alone, until the summer begins and you move your things into a yellow house. Your parents walk backwards into the house, carrying boxes. We spit tea into our christmas mugs. I take a ring off of my finger and you put it into a little box and bring it to the store. We walk up the hill, facing the pond. We sit overlooking the park and I just want to feel you close to me so badly. We stay this way.

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