a huge mess. i miss autobio.
When I go back to Portland I know that I’ll miss mornings in Boulder. Every day at seven I turn my music on soft and quiet and listen to the words in my head as I pick out my scarf and take my hand-me-down vitamins. Our mini-fridge hums and the showers groan and my hair straightened sizzles and smells like a cheap nail salon. I move in slow motion and I watch the light change through our grimy window as I make my bed and breathe and keep breathing. When I’m ready to leave (red furry coat on, Burburry sprayed, keys slipping through my fingers) I walk through hallways of shut doors and sleeping souls, past plastic compartments and pockets of space filled with printer ink, foul pipes and coffee beans. My fingers are stained and I haven’t showered and the wet stairwell smell like tacos and Febreze. It’s fucking cold outside. The wind bites my cheeks and the back of my throat stings when I breathe in the chilly air and breathe out my morning cigarette. I can feel my heart beating and I watch the mountains and for the first time all morning I’m not thinking about you. I smell an onion bagel burning and the sky is blue and the rocks look like a Shirley Temple dotted with towers of sticky pine needles. The jagged cliffs glow and I glow and lights are beginning to turn on. A girl blow-dries her hair. A boy drinks orange juice. I have fourteen hours before I go to work and I’ve never seen a more beautiful morning.