19 october 2014, 22:31

I didn't mean for any of this to happen. in fact, everything was supposed to be different. show up for one night, plan it all out in your head, a preconceived novel. but we tore out the pages long ago, by our own choice. we agreed that we didn't want this to happen. but now i'm having second thoughts -- it is a blessing to have a map and a curse to have it lead somewhere. he was an atlas and you were a tiny triangle drawn to represent a mountain. the men around the table all have shoes i could fill, they talk about the box that came in the mail. but i'm getting ahead of myself with this surrealism; you didn't ask for it, in fact, you hated it. you wanted the poetry out of your head but it was
stuck
there. I wrote it on the inside of your skull and now it plays every day: as you're on your way to school, as you're sleeping, as you're playing with her hair. it's faded to a gentle hum but it still drives you insane.
the cracks have been sealed, the mirror replaced. this is not somewhere you want to stay.