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When things were good, they were weightless. We could stumble down the streets at four in the morning, wearing hickeys like tattoos we'd be ashamed of at dawn. Sneaking wristbands from friends with fake IDs, or faker **** And if we were low on cash, we might take turns lifting our shirts, shifting our bras, until a flash of something sacred earned a free drink. I could have been ashamed if gravity were working. But we were all weightless. Mistakes just floated away. Our dresses were too short, and our dresses were too tight, and the boys wore shirts that were good at hiding stains. Sometimes we didn't even need words; we could walk into a smokey, sticky bar and fall in love with a boy's arms while he fell in love with a too-short dress and the chance to see underneath it. And we knew we'd be waking up with those hickey-tattoos. But we didn't care, because we were all weightless. The boys just floated away. Maybe we wouldn't find any dance-floor-love, but that was always okay, because we were in love with ourselves. Our hazy heads whispered pretty words, and as we burned our throats with shots of pure love, pretty words began to slur into a pretty song, but we could never remember the melody when we awoke. So the next night we'd shimmy into our too-tight dresses and start ******* down more liquid love until we began hearing that pretty song again. We half-knew our sober hearts would never be able to recall the tune, but it never mattered. We were all weightless. Notes just floated away. These nights, things are heavier. I'll pour myself some love, but it burns like regret now. I don't wear any too-tight dresses because I don't much miss the dance floor. I don't miss the hickeys or the four A.M. walks. I don't miss the shirts being lifted and pulled. I don't miss the smoke flooding the bars. But I do miss the song that I'll never quite know. For though I am grounded, that tune is forever weightless, and the notes will just float away.
0
Nov 21, 2011
Nov 21, 2011 at 11:20 PM UTC
New Orleans
When things were good, they were weightless. We could stumble down the streets at four in the morning, wearing hickeys like tattoos we'd be ashamed of at dawn. Sneaking wristbands from friends with fake IDs, or faker **** And if we were low on cash, we might take turns lifting our shirts, shifting our bras, until a flash of something sacred earned a free drink. I could have been ashamed if gravity were working. But we were all weightless. Mistakes just floated away. Our dresses were too short, and our dresses were too tight, and the boys wore shirts that were good at hiding stains. Sometimes we didn't even need words; we could walk into a smokey, sticky bar and fall in love with a boy's arms while he fell in love with a too-short dress and the chance to see underneath it. And we knew we'd be waking up with those hickey-tattoos. But we didn't care, because we were all weightless. The boys just floated away. Maybe we wouldn't find any dance-floor-love, but that was always okay, because we were in love with ourselves. Our hazy heads whispered pretty words, and as we burned our throats with shots of pure love, pretty words began to slur into a pretty song, but we could never remember the melody when we awoke. So the next night we'd shimmy into our too-tight dresses and start ******* down more liquid love until we began hearing that pretty song again. We half-knew our sober hearts would never be able to recall the tune, but it never mattered. We were all weightless. Notes just floated away. These nights, things are heavier. I'll pour myself some love, but it burns like regret now. I don't wear any too-tight dresses because I don't much miss the dance floor. I don't miss the hickeys or the four A.M. walks. I don't miss the shirts being lifted and pulled. I don't miss the smoke flooding the bars. But I do miss the song that I'll never quite know. For though I am grounded, that tune is forever weightless, and the notes will just float away.
I don't quite like the ending. And I have mixed feelings about the repetition. I could use a lot of help with this one, y'all. Thanks bunches.
zoe
Written by
zoe
American
Nov 21, 2011
Nov 21, 2011 at 11:20 PM UTC
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