be back soon

My brother and my girlfriend both wear old spice deodorant. they are one year and one month apart in age. 

says she doesn’t feel like herself. Pulls out her hair ties. Sorts through her bag, a tiffany blue mirror threatens to spill out but she pushes it back in without second thought. Threads thrown up on the floor. A dirty sock, maybe art later. A video camera facing east. 

Pink satin purse with a charger chord scrambled on the outside, it’s never quite white color. big bags to carry things out into the world when we don’t want to be here anymore.

they are yelling, or arguing, they say they’re just talking. we are just having a conversation.

sit on the carpet curled up and pushed down by the bed posts and large chests and chipped wood corners. mirror hangs crooked. light dangles down. stuff i made and stuff i didn’t all strewn about. 

how did you get here? on the bus? who was the bus driver? was it a man or woman? old or young? was the bus on time? who did you sit next to. how much do you think a bus driver gets paid? did it rain on your way here? were you cold? what are you doing after you see me? how are you getting home? are you taking the long way or the short way? how often do you ride the bus? would you like to have a car one day instead? do you have your drivers license? when did you take your drivers test? was it hard? did you pass on the first time? could you parallel park? your insurance rates would be high anyway? oh man i think its time for me to go, i think ive got to get home. 

type of conversations relationships stale in an instant giving the distance the space to be what you can imagine your partner is. never really sharing things, towels labeled hers and his. never really knowing things. acting as a unit. cooking cleaning working shopping cycling like the laundry does on sundays, round and round and spits out warm. 

i was on a dream, a dream philosophy. a dream of a world in purples and pinks and pinks and greens. thinking about how ive always been is hard, i don’t know where or what was real. its all about what i was thinking, what i was feeling, none of us are together, really. we were for a time, for a night, on the sand, in the capsules, dancing madly, in big beds in mansions cuddled into a seed pod of bruises that formed from the same complications: parents, men, boys, them. girls that made fun of the way that we dressed. days that fell off the edge. counting one by one two by two. 

roll it and make it and fake it. dont kiss me for a few weeks lets love each other differently. the tension doesn’t dissolve when you kiss like it does in a movie. put a blindfold on, and lie that its the reality. 

take it off and fall off the edge again. get back on your feet again. walk to the beat again. 

one by one. 

they all left. it felt like the faces faded into colors that whirred by with the seasons. summer, fall, spring, winter, winter, winter, summer, summer, flexing and flashing like no other. 

going from service to consciousness. consciousness back into mindlessness. mindlessness back into earnest depression. into glowing screens and candy bars from gas stations and 7 11s. which turns into getting outside again, when its hot again, i forgot who you were but i’m back again. i love you just the same i just forgot who i am. 

textEmma7 Comments