People crept quietly on cats paws raised
in defense of noise in defensively
the film reel will catch hesitation
basic betrayal in the street car line
I have key words I need to expand. I want to stop falling back on blood, bones, breath, water, and shimmering stone. The sci-fi entwined in the concept of self to the point where I don’t have friends anymore. Cool sweet strangers, I love thee like pixelation, sweep me off my feet. It’s worse when I see them on the street. My eyes telling me that that god-damnit is how they would move.
Honey intentions, it’s alright. This is therapy, love. I take this word and that question and make it my own to heal you with. I don’t have to get involved in your little joy. I don’t intend to. The two way street is horrid in it’s simplicity. It is sublime to be wanted and not needed later, if only for ten minutes. Kiss me, but don’t make it mean anything.
There’s a kid in chat who writes me stories and I can’t write anything back. I get caught in my need for a story and my elusive penchant for creating rather adult interaction. I don’t know how to write stories, I don’t know how to make a beginning, a middle, and an end. The plot thing escapes me. The theory and plan that live inside me are so inadequate for stories that it’s laughable. I feel ridiculous for even claiming the word writing, no matter that this is made of words.
The wave of heat blasted into them after the air-conditioned plane. They blinked, unable to focus their eyes through the wavering air rising off the tarmac. “Of all the places in the world to visit, I chose this city.” A painful glare coalesced into an approaching white mini-truck on fat orange tires. “Dear lord, they must be kidding.” The driver stepped out, ignoring the passengers for his headphones that had apparently slipped out of place, his long braided hair caught in the wires.