yearning for orange-red and wind
she likes to go on long walks
down the streets of her home town
she feels most at home in these empty streets
walking alone
with nothing to hear but the wind in her hair
and her own thoughts.

maybe she liked being alone at first
and maybe she's gotten used to it
to where she's found an odd sort of
comfort in her own company,
"don't come close," she said.
"i won't let you hurt me again."

you're the kind of boy who handpicks flowers
instead of buying them
the kind to arrange them yourself
from the ones in the garden you feel
are the prettiest and the best

and i'm glad you've picked me

when i was a child i had a siamese cat
we found him, alone, abandoned
outside of our home
we took him with us when we left

he never liked to be inside too much
but he loved me with all of his soul
refusing to leave me be and
resting on my lap until my legs were numb

he was aggressive and mean to his own kind
never letting other cats wander upon
his territory, but he expressed a tolerance
for the young kittens next door

one day he began searching the house
climbing into the bathtubs, across furniture
on the counters, meowing incessantly
until he decided to go outside

we opened the door for him and he happily
trotted away, and in the morning we
discovered he found what he was searching for
he was searching for a place to die.

i used to always have bruises on my knees from the cold tile of the bathroom floor. the texture and the goosebumps is what i really miss, although i think that's the strangest thing about it.

why would i remember that part so vividly?
and why did i bruise so easily?

it means so little but it says so much
that the details are what i focus on the most
the feel of running my fingers over the porcelain
and how it was always so cold to the touch

i never remember why
but i remember the encouragement
the desperation
the tears in the mirror
the tearing at my skin
and the small woman with an accent
over the deli counter
who motivated me to get better

it's easy to miss you
because my arms feel so empty
when you're not in them
and there's nothing here
for them to hold
that's nearly as grand as you

it doesn't have to be romantic
i'd get them myself if i could
just a big, bunch of flowers
it's very easily understood

because it would make me happy
it's a gift full of life
they don't have to mean much
only to be bright
beautiful, lively
and they only last a while
which makes their presence much sweeter
their time is limited,
but i enjoy them infinitely
and the life they breathe into my lungs

and it'd be nice to know that you're thinking of me, and you just wanted to buy me flowers

i haven't been able to find something to wash out the bitter taste you've left in my mouth.

except maybe *****, but that only works for the night, and it's unreliable.
drinking because i'm sad usually just leaves me sad and drunk,
and that's not a good place to be either.

but the ability to forget what you've done to me is worth the risk, so i'll drink alone. i'll drink with friends. whatever i can get my hands on, really. and maybe i'll think about you, and maybe i won't. but it doesn't matter, because maybe i'll fall asleep.

and maybe i won't have bad dreams.