I bet you can’t even feel me anymore. I bet you’ve forgotten the pitch of my voice, the inflections of my speech. I bet you can’t remember the dark tint of my eyes, the caramel of my skin. I bet the memories of me are fading like dusty polaroids in an abandoned album, the corners yellowing with age and the colors blending into a sepia-toned gray. I bet the image of my face is detached from your mind like the fleeting glimpse of an abstract painting, the distant strokes leaving a transient impression upon your thoughts. I bet the words from my mouth have lost their draw, and I bet the pulse of my heart has gained your disinterest. I bet you’re happier where you are, where the sunlight falls across concrete I haven’t walked on for weeks, where the wind no longer rushes across my skin. I bet your days are fuller where you are, where the anchor of my memory no longer weighs you down. I bet the passing hours lift you higher and higher with every breath you take filled with more satisfaction and contentment than the last, now that I’m gone. I bet your life feels easier without the complications of my presence, these current days where all we have is the past-tense of each other.
You can read me like a book. Literally. It’s like the intimate details of my personal life don’t matter. The only secrets I keep are the current ones. I found that I have no problem divulging any of the older ones. Sometimes I wish I wasn’t so casual with everything in my life. I wish I didn’t feel so comfortable being so open and so overtly honest about everything. I wish I knew how to maintain some amount of mystery about myself. No. Instead my mouth runs like a broken motor leaking gas all over the place. Oh well.
I’ve been really happy. Exhausted. But extremely satisfied. I could probably use more balance in my life, but. I think I can continue living like this for a while.
PS. If Marko and Peter share a house/apartment next year, I am completely DOWN to be a roomie. What are the odds that my parents will let me move in with boys? Probably impossible, but man oh man. That would be a winning living situation, I’m not going to lie.
I need to get these massive amounts of WHORE out of my system.
I’m moving in 7 hours. When did that happen?
I have a special seat of hatred reserved in my heart just for you.
I haven’t had much motivation to get out of bed lately. I’ve just been so lazy, and this indifferent complacency has been swallowing up the hours of my day as I wile them away either sleeping or refreshing the same websites. I just don’t care about much anymore. I can’t drive so I can’t get away, so I make do with what I can by immersing myself in extraneous activities that have no direct relation to anything I should be doing with my life. I’m just. You know. So incredibly bored and nonchalant to everything going on. I guess I just figure that what does it matter? I’m moving soon anyway. What does anything matter at this point.
Blah blah, you know? I think I’m just pre-menstruating, so none of this is a big deal. I just wish I didn’t feel so inclined to sleep half of my days away.
All Mikes are bad news for me. Every Mike I’ve ever met. Haha. Oh man, it’s almost a little funny.
Last night before store closing, a tipsy 28-year old Mike tried to pick up on me and spontaneously spend New Year’s with me. Who does that? He even knew how old I was. Ew.
New Year’s went well. I hope this year is even more climactic than the previous one. In all those good climactic ways.