I know I’m trespassing. Is that why he’s here? I’m not smoking, or drinking, or skinny dipping. I could be doing drugs. But I’m not. I’m just trying to find my own peace of mind. What’s so wrong with that? The summer homes are long abandoned. There are no lights from boats on the lake. It’s too cold for anything to live around here. So what if you’re not supposed to be at the park this late? Dusk is a concept! My emotions are a racket.
                I said, what are you going to do? He said nothing. How about you.

                I think that’s why I’m sitting on the wet rocks. Craving a smoke and chewing my fingernails. I could be a lot of things. I could do a lot of things. I’m just not sure. I’m waiting on something that’s out of my hands. I’m waiting for the typewriter to end its round. The press to run. The stars to fall out of the sky, gathering in my ****** and coughing up dust. I’m waiting for this to become us.

                I’m thinking I should have bought red lipstick. The summer I painted the Denver room with make-up. I’m thinking, I should have broken the board into half again, the day I got the news. I’m thinking I should have walked farther into the ocean the weekend they announced it terminal. I’m thinking I should have moved in with you. Now every empty doorway is another reminder of the space that used to be filled. And I’m too small to fit into the cracks in these walls. But for hell’s sake I’ve got to try. I don’t want to be that.

                I don’t want to be another “why?”