I don’t snapchat don’t ask for my number

my hips hurt


I remember asking strangers about the shape of your face.

It was all I had on the hunt for answers.

How did you know me? Who were you? Why did you hurt me? What did I do to you? Could you really hear my thoughts, or was it some crazy trick I hadn’t figured out yet?

Everyone looked the same to me back then. There was no way in hell I’d believe that more than one person was playing a trick on me.

Multiplicity made more sense. Please don’t ask why.

On the plane, I was sure I was going to die. I’d never been afraid of flying before. But there I was, one second worrying about how I was going to make it seven hours without a cigarette, and the next second full on in the present moment as the giant tin can climbed through the sky, with me inside completely enveloped by this terrified knowing that I was about to die.

Up, up, up we notched, me gripping the plastic seat arm, falling back into the chair as we all zipped toward the clouds and then beyond.

In the sky, as the plane came to the highest point, right as it started to level out, I knew without a doubt that we were all about to plunge right back down and collide with the ground in a fiery death.

And when it didn’t, I was like, ‘oh, okay, that wasn’t so bad’, and I popped my collar when nobody was looking. Nobody even noticed it had fallen flat.

I lost that fear on the flight back. Just like that. Less than two weeks later. It was gone. Like it never happened.

But that first night of my vacation, I was so tired I nearly drowned in the tub. Whose fucking idea was it (mine?) to have a bath in that gigantic thing when I was that exhausted? When I hadn’t slept in weeks? When I had spent the last few months falling asleep anywhere I sat down…

The bench on the porch, the couch, the toilet. Yes, I’m a real person who takes a pee on the toilet at least three times a day. Sorry if that disturbs your bank or whatever you call it.

I just happened to find a hotel that was across the street from a graveyard. A catholic museum graveyard. Of all things. And of all places, it was there I found a part of myself that I had lost way back. Before the mess.

The nuns came to me in the yard as I put my hands on giant poplars, as I whispered to the beautiful and scary faces in the bark.

I’m sorry I couldn’t tell the difference.

I’m sorry I don’t know who drinks chocolate milk and who drinks Miller and who drinks scotch, single malt, neat (with ice only on the most difficult days).

I didn’t spend much time in the closet during parties when my friends were experimenting with Seven Minutes In Heaven.

I didn’t know how to separate the sun from the light of a bulb I could not see.

And if you ever loved me, I didn’t know it.

I’m sorry if I made promises I couldn’t keep. I was just a kid. We both were, weren’t we?

irl I come with a warning label. I don’t know why it didn’t show up back then.

I’m sorry that I don’t remember who I was.

I’m sorry I haven’t been able to give you that refund yet. I have tried.

I keep kicking it up. I’m doing my best to follow my path. It might look bright to you, but I can only see one step at a time.

I know what Puma’s are all about. I own a few pairs. Ask every man I’ve ever known.

Don’t blame it on the stars because that’s bullshit. I’m more grounded than I appear.

Then you kind of knocked on my door and I had no idea you had a brother. I didn’t get it.

You took for granted that I would because you did. But we’re not all the same. Even within our soul groups we differ, you know, and that’s what I’m learning.

Author: tendrilwise

Hi, I have a diploma in Journalism, I've published a novel, and I am currently studying psychology. My odd way of viewing the world either gets me kicked out of parties or invited to them. Jenn McKay

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