I don’t eat paint chips

Someone outside is smoking marijuana. The thick scent is delicately tugging at me. I’m alone right now and feeling it. I want to be years ago, and changing what I did. Knowing what happened. Course, I’ve thought about jumping into people like that before. Being able to go back to when I first met someone, but with everything I know now. “Hi! My name’s Jhayne. You’re going to whisper my name one night and I’m going to hate you for it. You like peanutbuttercup ice-cream and I’m going to introduce you to your favorite movie. We’ll sleep in the same bed when I stay over at your place, and though you’ll want to, we’ll never have sex.”

lunch satisfied in a suit

It makes me happy to still know you. Happenstance and chance creating vectors of not amazing, but attractive in that inoffensive, smooth-cheeked, highschool kind of way. Food from the past future featuring powder and microphones. Camera lenses would show only details, and not my inner amusement at our carefully simple conversation. So clean, so sleek, so carefully groomed.

I’m reading a new book that’s inspiring me to write again. Actually sit and portray sentence and word and wit in letters. I’m remembering the flow of language. How turning a precise phrase makes me feel. The shape of my mouth saying the word, “love”. My tongue touching the roof of my mouth only briefly. I wanted to hold your hand for a moment, but only because I’ve been lonely.