(no subject)
This time it had nothing to do with the man and his dog. This time we had no warning, we had no way of knowing it was going to be like this. Half the time we feel guilty for feeling lonely and the other half of the time all we want is someone to wake up next to. You think we'd learn to give up more easily, you would imagine our skins have gotten thicker but, in truth, nothing has changed. We are still the same kids who had our first kiss under mistletoe and who buried sticks on the playground and pretended it meant something. It all meant something. Not something you can see or touch but something you can kind of smell on each other, something like the sweet smell of sleep. You tell yourself you're turning 20 on Monday (because you are) but you aren't happy and that doesn't smell sweet. Nothing quite works out the way it should. But you have your best friends and you have a warm bed and you can pay the rent and you can listen to music and you can drink until you can't sit up and you can chain smoke till your fingers rot and you can never get away because he put his hooks in your heart and now you can't get them out. But he has a brand new set of hooks in a girl with a more severe chin and you pretend they don't hurt, when he tugs the other way, and you pretend it's okay because they'll start to rust soon anyway. I have my own set of scars. Scars from not being a good person, a good daughter, a good girlfriend. I have scars in the shapes of Sicily (when I fell at the pool, ti ricordi?) and I have scars from when I got the chicken pox at age 6. I have scars from you. You have my scars, too. but I'm telling you, I'm telling you and it hurts for me to tell you, but there is no clear end in sight. There is no map to find a way out of here. There is no way of telling you how long it will be before I wake up again with someone next to me. Sweet and smelling like sleep.