I’m 22, social and not completely unattractive. You’d think it would be simple. Instead I’m hovering over my keyboard, waiting alone for my night to blend into daybreak. I imagine the people I love lying in beds I might never see and how they curl in their sleep. Different personalities looking lifeless but for breathing. I can touch their hair in my mind, take their hands and lay down beside them, but it doesn’t matter right here. Really, I’m listening to my pocket watch ticking the hours away until the sun rises to strip my clothes away and I can finally fall asleep.
The smell of a boy is in my hair. A perfume spice, a personal holy water. It’s a perverse distraction, like I expect to be able to lean back and meet a welcoming body. I should write for him, I think he likes it. Talk about our elastic inevitability. It stretches, but there’s no escaping it. Such a personal oddball relationship. Sort of waiting for one of us to pick it up. We the polite with the painfully sharp wit. Sometimes I think, “at least we don’t leave bruises.”
(I’m listening to Wolf Parade again. Months later and it’s still showing up to haunt my play list with deathless bouncy rock. Now say, it’s in god’s hands, but god doesn’t always have the best god damn plans, does he. Watched The Life Aquatic again this evening. I still laughed the second time around, though not so much at the cinematography jokes. There’s something compelling about the soundtrack, I find it odd that I’m finding it hard to download.)
I want to reach an antennae to heaven. A wire to catch the sound of crying angels. They spit on us for rain, manna pooling on the forest floor with water and we never notice. How this is possible, you’re not allowed to know. This is my secret, my earthly curse. My wings are dying, fading fast. I require True Love’s Kiss but it doesn’t exist. It’s a human thing, a fairy tale told by the women in romance comedies to the younger women in front of the television with a pint of depressed ice-cream. Programmed behavior and it can’t save me now. I’m lost, my signal blaring unheard. I never flew on feathers, but dreams.
I’m thinking I want to be lying in warm sand, dry sand. That california beach sand baked by the sun I didn’t get to see while I was down there. I want to curl up under a tree, in long dark grass, with hot light playing in green shadows above me. Lie on my side and let the branches keep off the skin burn. I want to be in bed with you, my head in the crook of your arm, content and tasting your kiss on my tongue. I have a trick where I can match heartbeats for a little while, I’d do that. Really I want to be somewhere there’s heat and daylight, somewhere where there’s a pillow of natures flesh. My fantasies are of lying down, letting rest overtake me. I want the day to come, to release me to dream.