We don't get snow in these parts, but it's cold
Stomach ache, no sleep, coffee breath. Can we pause and rewind back to when we started all this.
Back when we made promises we didn’t keep.
Now I am lying awake with the sun through the blinds and the moon through the blinds and when there is no moon and there is no light.
Maybe you were right and I was wrong, but then again maybe I am the sickness and you are the cure.
It doesn’t matter now, it was too late six months ago.
Don’t let them tell you it’s never too late.
There is always a point of no return, when you know that it is the end of what you wanted.
Sometimes you just refuse to see it.
Christmas lights mark the sidewalk in red and green and blue and you used to tell me everything.
This time last year.
I wrote an inscription in my favorite book and wrapped it up in gold paper.
I’m afraid to take it from the trunk of my car. Seasons change but people don’t.
Not really, not in the sense that we will make it all better with a kiss or a word.
My little black dress and a little black eyeliner and if I were a praying mantis you would already be dead.
I hope I am not losing the humor in this.
I hate more the giving up than the letting go.
The way your drink gets cold but you’re too lazy to put it in the microwave and even if you did it wouldn’t taste the same as it did the first time.
I will drive four hours in the rain today to get back to your eyes. I will say everything but what I want to because I do not, and never will, have the guts.
But I can’t stand her hands on you anymore than you can stand me with him.
So stop telling me leftover wine lies crumbs in the bottom of the basket and your green sheets.
I did not ask for this, but I will take what I can get.
Merry Christmas.
Sometimes you give it all up
I have seen every single episode of 7th Heaven, Boy Meets World, Top Gear (both original and current format), Monk, House, Full House, Step by Step, The Hills, The City, Desperate Housewives of Orange County, Atlanta, and New York, and Charmed. I own five flannel button-downs, three pairs of moccasins, a microwave, and a coffee pot. I do not remember anything important. I would rather drink cheap rum than expensive tequila. I have smoked hand rolled cigarettes in a punk bar in Madrid. I’m still in love. Coffee makes me sick to my stomach but it takes away the headache. Talking to you makes me tired. I don’t think I’ll make it in the business world. I’ve stopped caring. I would much rather write and sleep. I could end up in the gutter six months from now and be just as happy with the right loves and the right books.
