I discovered a shortcut into town today. It’s the stairs, from the dirt road, from the trail by the ocean, next to the used bookstore that smells like old people.
I was going to tell you about it, and then I realized you weren't there. You weren't going to use the shortcut, because you aren't here, you won't ever be here, and then my proud moment blew away in the wind.
Any news I have doesn't hold weight. I go to the store and I want to text you, want anything?, and of course you don't. Sometimes I buy a pack of sweets, thinking I'll give half to you, because you like them more than I do, and they end up going stale on the shelf, waiting for me to finish them off like a line of frosting-covered soldiers going to their doom. I just can’t stomach it.
Did I tell you what I had for breakfast yet? Did I tell you that my roommate threw up in the sink? Did I tell you what that bitch did in class?
Did I tell you that my biggest regret is getting on the airplane and never going back?
I feel like a ship in the middle of the Pacific, drifting aimlessly with no sight of land over the infinite blue-on-blue. And I want to land. I sleep all day so I can map the stars at night, because that's one thing we share. I send you messages in empty bottles and I think they float to you, most of the time. I tried screaming into one once but the scream must have floated out the top somewhere along the journey.
There is no end to this story.
There are a hundred floors extending up into the sky, and I'm leaning over the railing with you in awe.
Comentários