a
i like odd numbers a lot better than even numbers. i was in the car the other day and i thought it would be a better way for dividing up teams than telling them you’re a one and you’re a two. you could ask. do you prefer evens or odds. you’d group them together then. or rather, they’d do it themselves.
i like odd numbers a lot better than even numbers. i was in the car the other day and i thought it would be a better way for dividing up teams than telling them you’re a one and you’re a two. you could ask. do you prefer evens or odds. you’d group them together then. or rather, they’d do it themselves.
b
i feel weepy today. when i feel weepy, i tend to go through old photos and feel even more weepy. today it was one of you and me. my ear touched your ribcage. our eyes were faraway. i miss you. that’s okay to say, i think. still, i wouldn’t say it to you directly. not sincerely. i’d mask it in sarcasm and look away from you. out the window, probably. because we’d be in the car. conversations like that always seem to happen in the car. i’d play it off and pretend. if the conversation even came up at all.
i feel weepy today. when i feel weepy, i tend to go through old photos and feel even more weepy. today it was one of you and me. my ear touched your ribcage. our eyes were faraway. i miss you. that’s okay to say, i think. still, i wouldn’t say it to you directly. not sincerely. i’d mask it in sarcasm and look away from you. out the window, probably. because we’d be in the car. conversations like that always seem to happen in the car. i’d play it off and pretend. if the conversation even came up at all.
c
i took a photo of myself today and when i looked at it i was caught off guard by how it showed my age. i didn’t look like me. i’m not skinny. i’m not beautiful. i’m not exceedingly smart. passably smart, but not at a level that should actually be considered impressive or taken seriously. i’m not the best at anything or what a traditionally-minded person would think successful. but i have always looked young. once, a woman refused to sell me alcohol. she thought i was in high school. she said my id was fake and that she was going to keep it. even when i was twenty seven or twenty eight, i was always thought to be in college. wow, they would say. you look so young. i loved it. i clung to it. it made me feel special when i’m otherwise very ordinary. it made me feel like i still had time to become all those things i wasn’t. skinny. beautiful. exceedingly smart. the best at anything or what a traditionally-minded person would think successful. and i guess there is still time. as much as any of us can guarantee it, at least. but it feels more pressing now. the way the skin around your eyes changes. it presses you.
i took a photo of myself today and when i looked at it i was caught off guard by how it showed my age. i didn’t look like me. i’m not skinny. i’m not beautiful. i’m not exceedingly smart. passably smart, but not at a level that should actually be considered impressive or taken seriously. i’m not the best at anything or what a traditionally-minded person would think successful. but i have always looked young. once, a woman refused to sell me alcohol. she thought i was in high school. she said my id was fake and that she was going to keep it. even when i was twenty seven or twenty eight, i was always thought to be in college. wow, they would say. you look so young. i loved it. i clung to it. it made me feel special when i’m otherwise very ordinary. it made me feel like i still had time to become all those things i wasn’t. skinny. beautiful. exceedingly smart. the best at anything or what a traditionally-minded person would think successful. and i guess there is still time. as much as any of us can guarantee it, at least. but it feels more pressing now. the way the skin around your eyes changes. it presses you.
c
i took a photo of myself today and when i looked at it i was caught off guard by how it showed my age. i didn’t look like me. i looked like someone much more put together. and i was never put together. well. i say that. maybe i never paid my bills and i quit everything, but i was put together. i never let anyone make me do anything. i walked away from what didn’t serve me. that’s put together in its own way. but in this photo i saw a line by my eyebrow. a fracture that went straight up and down, from black hair to black hair. i carried it with me, literally and figuratively, while i made myself a cup of coffee. i sat down. i thought that it felt so nice to know who i was. to know what i wanted. to really know what i wanted. i thought that maybe the fracture that goes up my forehead now was from when i split my skull open and let my earnest self bleed out. i felt better about the deepening line then. i put my finger to it, being tender about it.
i took a photo of myself today and when i looked at it i was caught off guard by how it showed my age. i didn’t look like me. i looked like someone much more put together. and i was never put together. well. i say that. maybe i never paid my bills and i quit everything, but i was put together. i never let anyone make me do anything. i walked away from what didn’t serve me. that’s put together in its own way. but in this photo i saw a line by my eyebrow. a fracture that went straight up and down, from black hair to black hair. i carried it with me, literally and figuratively, while i made myself a cup of coffee. i sat down. i thought that it felt so nice to know who i was. to know what i wanted. to really know what i wanted. i thought that maybe the fracture that goes up my forehead now was from when i split my skull open and let my earnest self bleed out. i felt better about the deepening line then. i put my finger to it, being tender about it.
d
when you listen to music, what do you see? do you play movie scenes out in your head? that you’re writing from scratch. do you see colors or shapes? do you see nothing? does blackness just stretch across your skull and fill up the space behind your eyelids? i guess that’s not nothing, then. the blackness is something. do you just see what’s in front of you? the road, the computer, the sink of dishes? do you feel things? do you feel the air of a season that you’re not in or do you smell it? do you get goosebumps or the urge to tell a friend what you feel? do you listen to it alone or with other people? what do you prefer?
when you listen to music, what do you see? do you play movie scenes out in your head? that you’re writing from scratch. do you see colors or shapes? do you see nothing? does blackness just stretch across your skull and fill up the space behind your eyelids? i guess that’s not nothing, then. the blackness is something. do you just see what’s in front of you? the road, the computer, the sink of dishes? do you feel things? do you feel the air of a season that you’re not in or do you smell it? do you get goosebumps or the urge to tell a friend what you feel? do you listen to it alone or with other people? what do you prefer?
d
do you have some songs so bound to the skin of another person that you’ll never be able to unravel them from it? like two necklaces you once liked wearing but they got so knotted and you gave up. you keep them in a drawer now. i have those songs. a dozen tangled strands of gold tucked away in my dresser. it’s not a bad thing. i can’t wear them, but they’re still pretty to look at.
do you have some songs so bound to the skin of another person that you’ll never be able to unravel them from it? like two necklaces you once liked wearing but they got so knotted and you gave up. you keep them in a drawer now. i have those songs. a dozen tangled strands of gold tucked away in my dresser. it’s not a bad thing. i can’t wear them, but they’re still pretty to look at.
e
when my hair and skin smell like incense i think of a little piece of nothing that i wrote once. a short story about a woman. a woman that another woman loved. she was an amalgam, the woman who was loved. part me, part you. in it, her skin always had the faintest hint of incense on it. sandalwood. that part was me. a version of myself i’m always delighted to find. the woman who loved the other woman wasn’t an amalgam. she was just me. a version of myself i’m never delighted to find.
when my hair and skin smell like incense i think of a little piece of nothing that i wrote once. a short story about a woman. a woman that another woman loved. she was an amalgam, the woman who was loved. part me, part you. in it, her skin always had the faintest hint of incense on it. sandalwood. that part was me. a version of myself i’m always delighted to find. the woman who loved the other woman wasn’t an amalgam. she was just me. a version of myself i’m never delighted to find.
f
i don’t understand our fascination with vilifying a lie. we crave them. we read them. we buy two tickets and a large bucket of popcorn two pumps butter please to find them. we search them out and we yell when someone spoils the ending. when they tell us how the lie turns out before we were ready to know it. we idealize them. award them. but then when we tell them to one another, we proclaim them a mortal sin. they are sometimes. but if they’re told to make us happy, does it matter?
i don’t understand our fascination with vilifying a lie. we crave them. we read them. we buy two tickets and a large bucket of popcorn two pumps butter please to find them. we search them out and we yell when someone spoils the ending. when they tell us how the lie turns out before we were ready to know it. we idealize them. award them. but then when we tell them to one another, we proclaim them a mortal sin. they are sometimes. but if they’re told to make us happy, does it matter?
f
it matters. don't tell me a lie. please.
it matters. don't tell me a lie. please.
g
what do you do naked? do you sing naked or make the bed naked? we know you do That naked. or not naked. but the other things. do you do anything naked? do you dance or read or stand on the back deck with a cup of coffee while the sun comes up, listening to the birds chatter while you let nothing exist between you and the day?
what do you do naked? do you sing naked or make the bed naked? we know you do That naked. or not naked. but the other things. do you do anything naked? do you dance or read or stand on the back deck with a cup of coffee while the sun comes up, listening to the birds chatter while you let nothing exist between you and the day?
h
when i hear it, i don’t shiver, but i smile. i think of you and your bathroom and the vinyl that zipped and the tile floor and the smell of central air conditioning. i don’t know if i’m heartbroken that we don’t speak anymore, but i think that’s only because you’re still with me. in a lot of ways. in what i turn to for comfort. in the things that make me feel okay. you helped define them. it’s a good thing that i still like you. i might be angry about that otherwise. there’s a photo somewhere of you holding an eraser to my face. it was 35 mm film developed in an hour. when we looked at it, i joked that you were erasing my existence. i can’t erase yours.
when i hear it, i don’t shiver, but i smile. i think of you and your bathroom and the vinyl that zipped and the tile floor and the smell of central air conditioning. i don’t know if i’m heartbroken that we don’t speak anymore, but i think that’s only because you’re still with me. in a lot of ways. in what i turn to for comfort. in the things that make me feel okay. you helped define them. it’s a good thing that i still like you. i might be angry about that otherwise. there’s a photo somewhere of you holding an eraser to my face. it was 35 mm film developed in an hour. when we looked at it, i joked that you were erasing my existence. i can’t erase yours.
