3 naps and two party pizzas later, i still have not found any money in the couch cushions to pay peter so he can stop borrowing from paul.
i thought id seen him last night. in a place more familiar than home, resembling the wall just cold, dark and void of all emotion.
but it wasnt.
and that is great.
and each one gets easier and i move on freely.
the he and him and you and her is always different and they sometimes run together. its such a good thing that most of it is so untrue. i have no elaborate plan to tell the truth. just to ramble on about feelings that i make up along the way. (?) like this.
we stood in the doorway nearly an hour that day.
the automatic doors kept opening and closing like his hands on my heart. just squeeze. and let go. squeeze and let go. open, invite me in, close and hold tight, open. close. open close. let go. just go. hold and let go
in and out and on thru the creeping door.
if we never move on, will we allow anyone else to walk in...
we just stand there with nothing but a cheap dollar spot in view...
until we had said enough and i had to walk thru.
alone and cold i walked towards the carts and turned. it was the kind of chill that shows on security cameras and makes a man handing over a cart blush. He says "maam your nipples are showing". with his eyes and i shiver. everything on the surface is hard when im alone. and i know this stranger sees some warmth, some hope i beg, oh please, i am not dead. or am i? must i question every fucking thing
and it stinks in here
"Does every stinking Target have to smelll like pretzels and cheese?"
So i changed my direction and headed towards something i had shared a few times with a girl i once knew sometime after high school. this cheesy comfort and salty hard mess of twisted dough had wrapped itself around around my fingers and i lusted after this new sensation. "please please take the feel of his hands off mine. If only for a little while, just let me be warm and cheesy, saltless and short thirteen cents"
And so i ate alone. and i thought of her. and i thought of so many who i serve no purpose or function in good times. i serve no one. i have been served by a 17 yr old kid with pimples and a faded shirt that now resembles my toungue. all dyed to match the color of cherry frosts and the hair color of a stylish girl i'd met at bar once.