9:47 PM and I swear, you haven't even crossed my mind. I'm not thinking about you. And I'm not thinking about your wrists, or your tendency to offend.
I don't think about you like helium balloons think about up and mudslides think about down, but who are we to tell the Laws of Physics how to behave? I won't be bitter, Gravity, if you give up on me one day. I know it's getting hard to keep me around.
I don't think about you like the Garden of Eden thinks about skyscrapers and burning buildings; or the way Lady Liberty thinks about flower beds. We all want what we can't have.
I don't think about you like the raw underside of the pot roast in the oven thinks of burning, this dinner is important, this dinner is important. The housewife checks the clock.
I don't think about you like sparrows think about shotguns. Well. They try very hard not to think about shotguns, don't they?
Tell me what you want me to do. Make a list? Fight back? Starve? Pray? I'm not thinking about you because I need to sleep and I need to eat my vegetables. I get blisters from my new shoes, and that reminds me of you. I hold my breath underwater, and that reminds me of you. We all horrify each other in little increments; we all look the same in the dark. I'm not thinking about you, and take it as a compliment, because I'm trying very hard not to.
Take a seat.
This is all about denial. This is all a defense mechanism. But cheer up, it's still about you. Yes, I'm thinking about your intake of breath, your apathy and self-defeat. I'm thinking about you, but I'm also thinking about the periodic table and slant rhyme and regression lines. I'm thinking about you, but let's get one thing straight: I have my own red blood cells and I have my own favorite books. I have my own way to get to heaven, thank you. Just because you're on my mind doesn't mean that the dirt under the rosebush is anything more than dirt.
I am still me, and dirt is still dirt, and I am thinking about you, and also about dirt.
This has been The Devastation Diaries.
Best I've read today.
ReplyDeleteAnd I'm not thinking about your wrists, or your tendency to offend.
ReplyDelete<--- This is the line I stole
You are amazing!!! Keep up the good work.
I don't fully understand how you manage to make ordinary things so interesting.
ReplyDeleteBlisters from new shoes, holding your breath underwater, and the dirt under the rosebush. Are you freaking kidding me? The dirt under the rosebush? That's not interesting. That's not interesting at all. Do you think our next writing prompt is going to be to write about the dirt under the rosebush? Of course it isn't. I'm trying to get kids to write interesting things and here you are making everyone else in the class seem so UNinteresting. And they're writing about interesting things like love and obsession and all of their favorite things. They're not writing about the dirt under the rosebush.
I'm sorry. I'm just a little pissed off, that's all.
That is a creepy picture of a cat.. just sayin
ReplyDelete...Thanks for making me uninteresting you interesting genius....
ReplyDeletepray.
ReplyDeleteJust not too hard.
It wont work,
but its always good to believe in something.
sparrows really do try not to think about shotguns... nice line.
ReplyDelete