My friends and I…
do you ever just want to go outside in the middle of the night and walk around and not actually do anything just observe and think and stuff
I draw lines in the spaces of your fingers as your palms rest on the table, while you hum along to bad contemporary radio that echos through the overhead speakers of the empty pizza joint. I feel the 4:00am eyeliner smeared down my face in a last struggle to hold onto traces of intended beauty, as my mind casually drifts off into a black hole of almost dreams. I’m pulled aggressively back to reality by the sound of your laughter. “Go home,” you say. “I know you want to.” But the thing is I don’t want to. I want to stay here with you among the marinara fumes for the rest of the summer and beyond but you don’t know that. All you can see are my tired eyes and my incoherent slap-happy mumbles but I don’t mind fighting the sleep. I just can’t stand the thought of you being alone, and let’s be honest neither can you. I try to protest, but a yawn is all I can muster. Again, your laughter fills the tiny room and I wish it wouldn’t stop because to me it sounds like some kind of symphony I’ve never heard before but know by heart.
Suddenly we’re standing under the streetlamp by the front porch of your house. I lean up against the chain link fence waiting for you to go inside but you don’t. Instead you you shove your hands into the front pockets of your skinny jeans and set your gaze to the worn out sidewalk as if you’re waiting for something. Always waiting. Waiting for words you’ll never find and plans you haven’t made. I know I should say something but I can’t. My mind is cramped with the would-be moment where I grab your shirt and pull you in, closing the world between us, pressing my lips hard up against yours. Where finally, you wrap me in your warmth and memorize the patterns of my heartbeat.
I wipe my nose on the back of my sleeve as I walk away from another sleepless night. I fell for the broken one. The vagabond. The misunderstood. Mostly because I foolishly believe in a facade, an illusion that is more than you could ever be. I have to believe in it. But the pavement is marked with the blood of those who believed too. Softly and slowly their tear stained whispers echo through the darkness.
“What a stupid girl.”
who wants to give up on society and go live in a treehouse with me