Quiet honestly, I wouldn’t mind any of it. I’d be his little girl. I feel so small in his company, so dainty, so clumsy, so small, so tiny, so child-like and full of wonder, like I’d want to stay with him, cling to him, lie in his lap….
I feel like a cat. I feel warm. I want to hear his heartbeat. I want to hear him. I want him, so much. I want him to be with me. I want him to stay.
Where are you?
It’s like, it’s like, it’s like….I can’t even really describe it. It’s just this longing, this deep, desperate longing for something, a longing that I can’t seem…to get over.
I’m tired. There’s a headache brewing. I need to write that oratory before Friday. If I closed my eyes right now, I’d be gone in seconds, minutes.
He cooked me lunch that day. And, sitting on the couch in his house, watching him from the back, his round, hunched shape, with his god awful haircut and shorts, with him, I felt the most incredible thing, something so delicate, so perversely innocent and sweet I can’t edge it out of my mind at all.
Every time I think of us fucking, I get a warm feeling in my heart. I wonder, what’s the real difference between making love and fucking? Which is sweeter, and which is more brutal? Which is it?
I need sleep.
He lifts her chin and brings her lips closer to his. He gazes at her, through hooded lids, a milky, opaque look in his eyes, clouded by desire, hunger, love and need. She’s wide-eyed and stunning in the reflection cast by the mirror of his eyes, looking back. She is cornered by his body, one arm extends to the wall, hand next to her head, his support. Eyelids sink deeper, he is taken by darkness as he, on instinct, presses his lips to hers. It is brief, mere contact, he breaks away, but does not move away, noses touch, foreheads resting against each other. Her eyes are closed, a faint pink taint her cheeks, and she grabs a handful of his shirtsleeve.
Had a dream about Ricky last night, it was like a conglomeration of the school year. I dream pretty symbolically. I was in Time Square, I think. Perhaps doing the English project, but I was never there for that shooting. There was McDonalds with a two customer lines, two alcoves and one was larger than the other. Some people doing a photo shoot, I think Tila Tequila was there. It was an odd photo shoot, they were all dressed up. One of them, some black lady, bursting out of her costume, was in a variation of some qi pao like garb, and she was the photographer. They were doing it in front of the second McDonalds entrance. The whole place didn’t resemble Time Square in the least, but my mind told me it was.
Somewhere down the line, Ricky and Miles come down the street, like they did the eighth floor hallway second term. Ricky’s wearing black, a strange piece of cloth zipped up all the way to the collar. I don’t really remember much of Miles, you can tell why. Ricky, for some reason, like he always does, comes down and talks to me, maybe it’s because no one else there really knew him, or maybe it’s because I wanted him to. I think I wanted him to. We talk about something and most of that bit of the dream is a blur. We noticed them, if I remember, down the street because a friendly, yet smelly bum was headed in our direction with a group of other bums and they were behind them.
I was under the assumption that Ricky was in the golf club and there was some sort of violence involving a golf club. But, as it turns out, he was on some Ultimate Chase thing. You know, if you remember, like that game we played at Katerina’s with Eva and her. So, basically, he gets on a bus, then, after receiving radio, or some form of communication, instruction, he dodges off the bus and runs after someone. All the while, I’m watching, with some sort of food in my hand, my mind tells me that that’s appropriate as such. I watched the photo shoot.
There was also a mild interlude about walking down hill on a street, something like a row of brownstones with the air of San Francisco to it. And movies, I don’t remember much.
So, when he gets back, I was hoping that’d he’d eat and he does. He buys some sort of McDonalds food and we sit. He whips out of a map, several maps and I suddenly have this ephiphany that it was like that board game. I was dreaming that he was playing the board game. Instead of Mr. X, the culprit was like Sexy something.
Right before I woke up, I think my hand was settling in his, in a really mute, really stifled and crush-like and high school way, the way it’s always been and always will be in my memory, nothing more, nothing less.
I think, the first I said to him when I saw him was to take him by the arm and tell him I missed him. I forgot his response.
I’m not sure, I miss him, I miss it, I miss loving love for the sake of love, I miss being perennially occupied with a figment of my imagination, some grand seal I placed upon this poor man as a symbol of my idolatry. I miss physics class, I miss his computer, I miss arm, covered in fine, gold hairs that brushed briefly against my own, I miss that curious look on his face, when he would turn to me and I’d see his blue and amber irises, I miss him, I miss him. I don’t know why I still do, but it comes back to me with a dream, all of the bits and pieces of the man I fell in love with, a man that never loved me back, the ephemeral moments I spent with him. It all started with that hair.
‘Still typing?’
‘Yeah.’
The reality is something I can never handle. Where I am now, it’s a strange place. I’m not with somebody I’d ever imagine being with, yet I can’t let him go because I’m afraid of being alone, of being hung up on, of being signed off on, of being by myself again, why am I so cruel to him?
I love him, too. I do, I do, I do, I do, I do, I do. If only….perhaps life was just not meant to be. I want to stop being a coward. But if you, me, I, looked nice enough, maybe we wouldn’t have to do the talking, maybe we wouldn’t have to do the work and suffer the heartbreak. Human emotional is fickle, power over this capriciousness in a wonderful gift.
Suffocate
Announcing
Miscellaneous
Personal
I had a dream about Paul Drugs. Paul Drugs does not exist. So, basically, it was like a Stuy crossed with Hogwarts and every time I stepped outside, the school courtyard grew. So, there was this redhead guy, who looked a lot like some famous ballet dancer and he kept inviting me to do drugs and I wasn’t exactly refusing. But every time we tried to smoke, something stupid would happen, like he drops in sand and can’t find it, a gust of wind blows the cocaine away, or something. It looked a lot like the courtyard from Atonement, with the fountain, but more green and minus James McAvoy. A lot of weird shit happened, I remember some people wrestling in the third floor atrium, near the gym. I remember some weird water ballet performance by the faculty. They wore hideous costumes and dove into the pool, which was outdoors and in an alcove of sorts. We watched by the side, huddled together because the pool deck was slippery and skinny. And, the end of this dream was marked by a strange Call of Duty game commercial involving a man named Paul Drugs. Paul Drugs, as I remember it, lay in a military cot, with tubes running in and out of his body, a little military experiment gone wrong-esque, with bandages and what not, a little anime-esque as well. There’s the commercial guy’s voice in the background, Paul Drugs’ eyes fly open. He goes crazy. Every time he is shot, the bullet would turn into a spike growing out of his skin and he would rip it off, like that Naruto guy, and impale the shooter with his own bullet. And, that’s about it.
Paul Drugs, man….