of all the sensations I can manage to conjure, the clearest is the memory of fingers tracing patterns into the crook of my arm.

today, walking to 7Eleven, I caught sight of a rusty nail sticking out of wooden fence. I thought of another time a fine point needle was shoved into the vein between my bicep & forearm, injecting me with tetanus. 

I finally quit my job. there are few things more satisfying than untying your apron on your last day of work, and tossing it into the dumpster. the sky was lit beautifully on my walk home, the sun was furtive, ducking behind clouds. there was an edge to the afternoon, making me worry for the dry tinder forest on the other side of the sunburnt high hills.

august reminds me of a flaming lips concert which reminds me that I've made three mixed cds for in my life, all three were goodbye gifts. all three began with the song "Do You Realize." which inherently betrays the first line of the song.  

*** 

when I get home, my mate alex was playing call of duty, and gale was crying in her bedroom. they both do these activities a lot. gale cries almost every day, usually at the foot of her bed listening to bon iver (she usually prefers the song wash.) and in response alex grips the nearest xbox controller and turns up the volume of his artillery. 

this all used to make me very sad. I felt like my house was a weird dysfunctional dollhouse but when you put a handful of depressives in the same living space, you begin to understand. I've seen gale in her ebullience, diving beneath foamy ocean waves and emerge with a sharky grin. I've heard alex meow to stray cats on rooftops and make oragami turtles for his nieces.

***    

we had no food in the kitchen sans half a bag of flour. luckily all you need is flour, water, cooking oil and a source of heat to make naan bread. add a handful of rosemary, basil and garlic and you've got the house smelling like fucking grandma's. I left a plate outside gale's door. "j'eat?"

I miss lexie and that makes me feel like writing, though I don't have much to write about. my bedroom window is streaked with black like a girl's smokey eyes and I have a itch to climb out of it and into the dregs of the afternoon. 

we were sitting across from eachother in a booth at arby's at 9pm on a thursday and I realize too late I should have paid for your chicken strips. you're licking honey mustard off your fingers and trying to think of something to say. dandilion pollen has gathered in your hair and I'm completely distracted because you're eyes are watercolors and I'm tripping. 

(this was all your idea. look, I just wanted you to like me.)

you ask me how I old I was when I lost my virginity and when I tell you, you're so surprised you laugh. I hate that my ears begin to burn. 

I go outside and hit my vape for nicotine and suddenly you're there again stepping out of the shadows placing your hand on my shoulder. I mumble something like I just don't want any more regrets today