witness

There’s a bizarre twist in my version. Bad things are good, and good things are bad.

(There’s an expiration date)

Insist, and there’s nothing to be said, but it’s known that that’s that.

Things change.

“I don’t know”

Call me Christopher

Call me Emily

“I Ross, take thee Rachel”

I bit my lip...

Thinking is toxic

It’s like admitting you need help. Ugh.

(it isn’t safe)

melancholy

(remember how we used to pronounce it funny)

--I’m like Piglet’s scarf on the blustery wednesday; unraveling.

“...this world was never meant for one as beautiful as you”

You have no idea how badly I miss you.

My mother might visit me this weekend. I don’t miss her, and mostly she irritates me more than most people can ever hope to, but I hope that she can make it. I want to show her where I go to drink coffee (little birds in the restaurant that sit on my table and eat off my plate). I want to visit the thrift store maybe. I want her to be in a good mood (do you think she will be?).

Maybe we’ll go to the beach.

Maybe we’ll talk about boys, or maybe about her. Maybe secrets.

Maybe I’ll take her for a slice of cheesecake.

We’ll go to the gluten-free bakery (we won’t talk about certain things)

I’ll tell her about how I sat in the coffee shop bawling my eyes out over The Little Prince (who hasn’t done that)

Maybe we’ll talk about childhood.

She might cry a bit (but I hope, I hope she doesn’t)

Maybe I’ll show her some of my writing. Maybe she’ll like it.

We’ll talk about books, and brothers, maybe we’ll buy a shelf.

She’ll tell me I look good, and wince at my hair. I’ll tell her I get compliments on it, and she’ll make a joke.

--I want to be perfectly clear: I don’t need her, but it would be kind of nice to spend a couple days with her.

Where did my strength go?

(there's lots of blue tack left on the wall)

Certain types of bravery

I just don't fit right.

Remember me.