A Thought. 

Sometimes I imagine my life as a montage sequence. Slices of film. A soundtrack; most likely what’s playing in my headphones. Convenient…

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To be Conned

He did something that surprised you. You knew what he was but the ties began to regrow. A mass of veins spreading from him to you. You welcomed him back in. He needed you. 

You welcomed him into your home for a time. You began to feel neglected, just like last time. You didn’t really mean to click on the messages between him and the girl he had used to leave you. You weren’t even painted as a friend in those messages. You were the girl who said she would help him out… “Ugh,” he told her. Ugh.

You have a moment of clarity. You take a walk on the beach. You pick up a rock for his collection. You give it to him with a smile. He smiles back and pulls you in for a hug. The hug makes you feel nothing. You realize you’ve conned him back. 

Untitled; 72 words

I’ve always found a light shade of summer freckle on a man to be an attractive feature. Pair that with an effortless baseball cap and I’m probably halfway to love. 

It’s as if I’ve formulated this notion that if you’re a freckled man, you’re an approachable man, you’re a good man; worthy of my planting a kiss on the impression the sun has left on you.

If only all that were true.

If only I did standup. 

Sometimes I wish I was a standup comedian so that I could go on stage and say things like “Sometimes I cry in elevators” and it wouldn’t sound so pathetic. I would deliver it in such a way that the audience would laugh and shift in their seats to accommodate their active abdominal muscles.

Maybe I would tell them how when I met him he was light and carefree and by that I mean he was drunkenly singing karaoke and doing a dance that involved excessive amounts of pelvic thrusting. I knew I had to have him.

I could tell them how when we started there were more libations which made for an evening long soirée during which we talked among ourselves and multiple strangers and even narrowly avoided an orgy invitation.

I’m still trying to write up the bit where, without comment, he decides it’s all too much for him and walks away. I can’t quite pick out what would make that one funny. Although; that is where the part about crying in elevators was born, so it can’t be all that bad.

Untitled; 145 words

The all too cliche “Hello old friend” was the only greeting I seemed able to express. I had seen hints of you in the last months, but now here you were, draping yourself over the other side of my booth. My eyes adjust to your presence. 

Your warmth was melting my ice cubes. Their shape was more rounded than it had been. You have that affect. 

I tried to soak you in, let myself be impressed by you. There had been days that I’d near begged to see you but you’d refused. The moment felt momentous but I couldn’t seem to muster the proper emotion. I only found myself hoping you’d be back for good but I knew that realistically you still had a couple more months away. 

The diner began to fill. Chatter of fresh patrons leaked into our reverie. I felt a chill.