Listen to the intake of his breath.
And stop.
Feel the muse claw up your throat.
The motion, the ocean, the notion of words that cry to be free.
And stop.
I want you to tell me a lie. How about in a blog post?
An aforementioned coffee shop romance. A purely platonic embrace.
The bat of a hesitated wink.
No, don't stop. This sentence might actually relate to someone and snaps and thumbs up are my bread and wine. I've missed you guys.
I've yearned and longed and dreamed of that soft scent of tobacco and Calvin Klein cologne.
I don't break so easily, not like in elementary when you told me you saw a booger in my nose; or like in middle school when you found tissue paper in my training bra; or even in high school when you heard I hooked up with that guy with the unibrow. Denial. Denial. Denial.
Sometimes I think about skyscrapers. Sometimes of peonies. A lot of the time I think about my weight, my complexion, my stutter, and my love handles especially my love handles.
But there is an iPhone app for everything.
Here's a prescription for an Instagram filter and some Accutane.
Why did I have to get personal in this...Let's just converse about your new tattoo who is in rehab and why did she decide to get pregnant. Meat and Potatoes, Meat and Potatoes, skyscrapers, laughing, New Year's resolutions, and the lonely thermometer that refuses to let the sun come back.
All I ever wanted was to smell clean air and find out what a papaya tasted like. Dish soap and do-rags are all that are in my pantry right now because I spent all my money on compliments and hair ties.
Maybe there is more to the world than Paris.
I'm in college and I get shocked when someone doesn't point out my stuffed training bras or unibrow mistakes. Things are different which is why I have nothing to write about anymore.
So here's the conclusion: Something about love, whiskey, and the way your old scars look in the sunlight.
See you,
A&D
