what else must be said
my dear
you wrote me a sonnet with your powdered coffee
you sounded like shakespeare when you talked about the unwatered basil ***
you made the rain sing with you just with your laugh

you had to go
and we said goodbyes
and there it was again

the most you've ever said
is in the silence of the air
around me as you went

and the unnameable poetry
you've made my mind imagine
how, you have invented a love

nineteen

19

potassium

nineteen.

my heart was broken at 19.

granted, it's been broken before
but not as wild
i felt heartache at nineteen

i saw the mountains at 19

with music playing
like sirens on an emerald
i found truth at nineteen

truth beyond me
beyond me such
that i didn't matter anymore

i found out i was broken
at nineteen

and i spent my wasted hours
fixing a gravel path
looking for blinding lights
gnawing at oxen corpses

waiting for 19 to end
into a 20
for another year of
another backache

another **** decade, as well

but nineteen was fun, too

nineteen i listened to music
on the dark empty road
and found happiness in nothing

nineteen i slept for fifteen hours
every day
and fed off marrow after the hard case

nineteen i told someone i loved them
and they knew they were loved
even when everything was grim

nineteen i was better
than eighteen
oh, tons better

(eighteen me was an absolute *******,
just the worst ******* pillock)

and i will wait for 19 to end
into 20
another year
another backache

and another me
better than before

she let that anger go
in a scream that shook the ground, the trees, that scared evey dog to bark, and the neighbours asked how dare

and i told them
you let the dogs bark at strangers
your husband bark at your kids
but not this soul scream at the gods

"it woke us up, in the middle of the night"

as it should
and so should you
wake the **** up
come out and shout properly, you stupid shitholes
shout like your husband just ruined you
like a car just killed your friend
shout as if you live in a world where your tools can rip your leg
a world where your chosen leaders steal while you smile
a world where you have the gall

the ******* gall

to call peace an illusion because you do not feel it during chaos

you ungrateful ******* curse happiness for being brief, when you could not bring yourself to admit that you could not persist in fighting agony

my friend has fought, and she has fought
and her scream is of pain, and ecstasy

your measly shouts
your earfucking arguments
are a desperate and out of tune cry for control
control of your children
of your work
of your house
of your country
of your pathetic idea of love
your pathetic idea of responsibility
your pathetic idea of justice

my friend has screamed
and in doing, she has gripped the fates by the *****
she has gutted the devil
my friend is happy
my friend is strong
my friend has fought
my friend has control

of her own
her life
and the ******* universe

so what, huh?
how dare you shout so weakly when we have screamed so sincerely

come out and tell the ******* gods what it is

the world is ****
the world is ******
the world is well
the world is ruined
we are ruined
we are ******
we are confused
we are strong

so come out
scream
you *****
scream!

asked for so long
what is the root of sorrow

and it made so we could not answer peacefully
what is the root of joy

most will think
and some would say
in their hidden minds
there is no happiness without knowing what sorrow has done

for even a child, born off the miracle beyond our mentalities
will cry entering this world
and into their mother's arms

and it is the most sorrowful to us
when they don't

some would add
sorrow is the pit that forms
when joy floats away

still, i asked my gaping wound that makes a smile
what it thinks

the sun was not unhappy when it warmed the stardust around it
and the sky is not ecstatic
when it rains on the fields

i wonder if the time will come
when sorrow does not have to precede joy
when euphoria doesn't have to be
the cure for agony

i wished to let it be for people
when i let myself smile
drug induced and core rotting
take the happiness from me
don't think that i must have suffered
to want to stoke this constant warmth
think instead, does joy need a root

and i wished for them to pay no mind, and think otherwise
when the pit of sorrow is filled with the maggots that fed on my peace

i wish for them to stop asking
is the happiness all over

it's not that i miss you
or that i am tired of my white tile floor, eggshell walls

or that I'm looking for something else
other than the blandness i was left with
that i have acquainted myself with
life is often grey, when your job is to scrub the stains

but sometimes
when i come home from work
and sit on my grey couch
turn on my plastic fan
look past the black fridge
onto my kitchen window

the sky lands a little golden swan
imprinted on my unlit
lonely kitchen

and i think to myself
it's beautiful
you would have loved it
it isn't enough.

"it took me five years to grow this tree," i told her

"you didn't grow it really," she said. "it would have grown by itself. it's a tree"

"but back then, it was a sapling, growing on a brick."

"and it still would have grown, you know," she insisted

and i gestured to the surrounding mess, the apartment buildings, the stone and concrete cul de sac.

"nothing grew here, maybe the buildings got taller, maybe telephone antennas, maybe weeds, but nothing."

"yeah, and?"

"when i saw the first few spindly stems, i thought nothing of it. when i saw the first few leaves, i knew it was curious."

"i dug the rest of the plot, removed the bricks, removed the cover on our gate. and i thought it was the most i could do."

"its the most anyone needs to do, you know" she said. "then it just grows. you wouldn't even need to water it."

"even still." i showed her the dust on the leaves. "the air here would clog the leaves from all the smoke. i showered it with water when i saw most of the leaves shrivel. i still do so."

"that would cost you, though. it's not a big tree, and you know it could die anytime, from the soil, the stones, the smoke."

"it didn't, didn't it?" i smiled, led her under the shade. "it grew, and i was glad. and right now i am glad it is still growing."

"well, okay. i still don't get it."

"you said earlier that it would grow anyways. i knew, but i still made it a plot to grow in.

and you said after that it could die. it didn't, and i'd like to think i helped it live.

and we saw that this place is hard and barren. i knew it is. but i knew it means something that suddenly one day, a little sapling decided to look for light, and air, here of all places.

i gave it the little help it needed to take root, and it made me happy it did. and i water its leaves every so often, because now it lives in the same air i live in.

not really that it makes me happy to see it without dust, but i felt it shared with me the struggle of not being able to breathe.

and really, i like to think that it shows me appreciation, for growing"

she looked a little less perplexed, but it still showed. "okay, but it's just a tree. it seems a lot for you to care for it for years, while it just sits there."

"at least it won't go anywhere.

and besides, it became a part of my life, just being there.

i put lights on its branches, that kids like to frolic upon and sit under.

i see birds flock above it, and i like to think they are grateful that it won't go anywhere. that it is there finally.

and i now see flowers grow, a stark contrast to all my life's grey. i see fruit that says to me, i can go on and grow some more, and i could grow here and there.

i see leaves that fall, and the small broken branches. the little sorrows of its life. i see the tree grow newer branches, that told me of its persistence to keep on."

"it's still a tree. there are trees everywhere"

"i am glad there are.

but i am glad for my tree. it grew on the hardest of places, and now there are flowers, birds, butterflies, and shade.

lucky for some trees to grow in better places, with no one needing to tend to it. lucky that there are forests, and soil, and orchards.

but i feel that me and my tree belong, and that what i do for it, and what little it did for me, is better than any forest."

…and i would wait for you
during storms and turmoil
awaiting the calm of your presence

i don't know what it is
but it maddens me
how i let it be
between the two of us

they say it's instantaneous
but i did not see the wonders of the world
grow on me like a fine wine that started as vinegar
it's no lightning bolt
and neither is it a leech
that we let bleed us dry

i don't know what it is
but you're wrong
and maybe everyone is

but i would still wait for you
during the worst of times
awaiting the music from a breeze

till everything ends
but us

i might not be that smart
thought my fourteen year old self

that thought persisted till i was old
and i was clueless as to why until now

i am not smart
because i have to think

exceptional people are like calculators
they're engines of critical thinking

the rest of us
have to clean our plates
when they can eat the china

and me
i had to stop and think when the protagonists of this world spoke out

when a musical note suddenly turns dissonant
i had to think if it was jazz or stupidity

when a joke is too funny
i had to think if it was mockery or modesty

when a girl makes a face
i had to imagine her entire world

and all the time i think
jeez, prodigies, leave some space for us

you're amazing, we get it
we're not

and we're too slow to care, anyways

don't look at me either, i'm an unimpressive
i write poetry on soft tissue paper

you write yours on diplomas
fine

doesn't matter anyways
you may be smart, but all of us combined is as dumb as a bag of people

and you read poems too
that brings you to my level

read me a quote
and be as stupid as the rest of us

life will wipe its *** with our intelligence
at least i wrote mine on two ply

i dreamt that a terrifying numbness
enveloped me

choking me, slowly

my skin turning into limestone
my screams turning into wheezes

and i woke, and it wasn't even past 11.

how does one close their eyes
after that?

left, right, left, right
up, down, under, over
arms flailing, spit sprinkling
my mate dances in a drunken frenzy

he's only had
a shirley temple
and a paper tab
offered to us by his date
that ditched us
the moment it started raining

my tab was melted on my hand
by the downpour
his by his grenadine
one of us was prepared for what will happen
and it was not me

he lost his temp job
a few days ago
he's been bored out of his mind
by the papers and the bills
and the shouting and complaining
i complained too
why'd he get a high
and not me?

humors filled my nose
as it poured outside
(we did not think of umbrellas)
the dirt-grass smell of rain
pounding the pavement
the kerosene-floral scent of a smirnoff blotch
on my sweatshirt

the music was in it's most jubilant
and so was my friend
i had a foot down in the mud
thanks to the *****
it wasn't joy but dread
that woke me
and my senses were in it's most twitchy
drum, snare, keys
beguiling sounds of a happy warehouse
driving the engine of a man
dancing
with red stains on his pants
stepping on his dropped handkerchief
perturbating a worried wino
with both adrenaline
and a headache

and i 𝘸𝘢𝘴 perturbated
mind you
the idiot was half at tears an hour prior
out in a spate
of hardship
and water
chick left him
job left him
bet his house burned down
too
we'd be wringing out our brains
if it'd happened to us
all at once

and he's at full speed
dancing
happy
maybe

maybe the lemonade was that good
or he's being tickled
by leprechauns
maybe its not that bad
and he's just happy
maybe it is that bad
and that full mouth smile
is as painful as i imagine

or maybe it's the leprechauns

yes

probably the leprechauns

snap, goes the shutter
and their poses relax

this is a nice spot, she said
her fiancée too busy
brushing the duff off his shoe

i know, i said
𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦

two oaks meet in the center
of a cobbled path
an arch of branches
a handshake
a kiss
its canopy
mottled with the early
yellow, red
the post-summer
four o'clock sun
shining through cathedral windows
the illuminations
waiting for their cue
and so were they

and i wound my camera to it's next frame
ready, point
a wind blows from the left
and the stained glass shatters

snap, goes the shutter
and they frolicked at the sight
of the falling leaves

they picked the perfect time
for a photoshoot
the first hours of pre-autumn
when the branches are still clothed
before ******* for winter

******* ******
got the best deal

tell apollo
i care not
for sweet words
that he insists
to be poetry

i want
his smile enduring
and my days
forever
in his light

i stood besides the grass
on an empty crossroad
the ants feed on the remnants of an empty can

i know i was quitting
but not immediately
if i did that i'd get mad
i was more myself with a cigarette

the lighter clicks
for my cherry scented stick of white
i'd take two per two days
three if i'm extra pathetic
i meander through my thoughts while i stand
like running through a road without lifting your feet
the little details hurtle around

on how blue the grass is
on how tall the sky grew
compared to the last time i was there
on how organized the ants go about
compared to the giant beside them
the smoke was whiter than the clouds
that covered a pleasant day

i stood like i was waiting
not for anything or anyone
but waiting
maybe for the rain
or a car
or that high i paid for
the loser smoked because his life was garbage
laying on the floor to be feasted by insects
i feel my life was not right
only because i knew it felt wrong
i must have tasted it before to know the difference

was it the times that school ended
was it the weekends between work
or that afternoon with a girl
or the **** we had after
was it the memory of a feeling
who's images were forgotten
but lingers nonetheless
was it from a child, or a lover,
or a drunk chainsmoker
was it even real
or true

the stick was left to its dead inch
the wait was over
and i parted from the ants

i sat on a couch
besides a little boy
he is preoccupied with a chicken leg

how are you
enjoying the roast i made you?

he stares at his phone
bone at hand
watching a middle aged woman
mix slime

yeah, me too
your mother's salad was excellent
though i didn't take much

he tilted his head
mesmerized by the lady

yes, i know
we all do spend more time
staring at pretty goop
i toiled an hour for mine
when i made your gravy

he is deadpan
with only an uneasy glance
as response

no, don't bother
i don't like it too
when people interrupt me
from my browsing

he glanced at the dinner table
at the people feasting
talking
while the food goes cold

i hate it too
when the lasagna noodles
turn tough
he leans on the cushions

his father answers a call
yes, i'm keeping him at check
go do what you must

the child scoots to the window
to look at his dad
though it rather looks like
he is mesmerized by the mango tree

yes, i know
the fruits look lovely this season

he leans back to his cushions
and stares at the home screen

i know how you feel
to have guests who are good at guesting

to have a father who's present
but not there

to have a meal
that turns cold

i know how it feels

he finishes his thigh bone clean
i'd do the same thing, honestly

in a fog
from all the steam

from all of my fellow friend's tired minds
they see me watch
as mine floats from my hair
and i point and say
"clouds"

she sleeps in the day
i am awake and she sleeps in the day
god made the world on sleepless nights
they skip that fact in the holy books
we built castles and orchards and forests
in our own early mornings

i was awake
sat sweating and itching for a good
back massage and apple pie
it stank of catshit in the prison cells
but you get busy

thinking of them others who are awake
building castles and orchards and forests
i tested out my tired eyes
it helps me ignore the roaches

she sleeps in the day
but not in her castle
god built a world of thinkers and roaches
but not eyes with mason arms

still, i was awake
and i knew she was too
and i wrote in my holy book
apple pies in kitchens
and soft beds in forests
and her

she sleeps in the day,
in her own castle
or orchard
or **** cell
a true sleeper
awake

you tell me you don't exaggerate
i tell you there are nazis in schools

elephants in fashion shows

murderers in hospitals

glue in burgers

i have no idea how you view the present
or look towards the past
if you are even able too

often, i can't
but i know
the bits and pieces that i do remember
do no justice as to how they felt

there will always be
a cavity
where emotions dug

and that's why
there is beauty in sewers

cockroaches in soda machines

diamonds in the eyes of whom i love

because it wouldn't make sense
if they didn't

they just wouldn't, really

how does thinking
all's is in simple truth
mean it is for you?

it has been a while since i've touched pages

for my mind has been busy with the matters of flesh, not of the wind against a face staring at the passing world in its nicer sunsets

i take two akidins every day to survive

my survival linked directly to a happiness craved by my flesh

my flesh that needs to get up, needs to eat

but for you tonight, i opened plath again

my mind, my art, my love, i am reading again

and i felt alive, in my struggle to understand her

and i opened gibran again to see where i left off

where my bookmark of your photo marks my favorite of his prayers

could it have been that i really was alive back then

that i had love, and toil, and music, and words

filling up a mind that understands

a mind now struggling to stare at golden hours

after waking up on dark ones

if only, i keep hoping

if only i was a third of who i was

capable of everything, everywhere, at the same time

knowing what summer clouds sounds like, what paintings smell like, what sleep looked within palpable dreams

could it be, i can return

could it be, a mind that wishes for what once was, can be well once again

could it be, it only takes memory to know where rock bottom is

my love, i missed you dearly
i whisper in solemn prayer

i can love you once again, with music, art, poetry

eye, and ear, and subconscious

i've missed you dearly, and i love you for staying

the day will come that my love for you comes from a complete me

my newest boomark for ariel is an empty biperiden pill page

and gibran will keep your beauty, in page 21

here is to you, and the letters of sanity

you tell me you're at 100% and you'll last for only an hour, dude, how dare you

and he said

yeah, dude, but so do you.

a tablespoon of sugar
a teaspoon of salt

five kilograms of sweat
and an ounce of regret

three cups of flour
all purpose
so is your intention

for a day like this
a ton of devotion

see them brighten
when you serve it
on your best plate

with a smile
without it
you may as well have not baked at all.

only when you've carved out what you wanted from life
did you realize
what mess you made
and what statue
you've ended up
for the rest of us
to see.

girl number 1
did the mistake of manifesting
all the love that she can imagine
and look where you are now
looking for it like a ******
treating treasure like a quick fix

girl number 2
was so pretty that she'd charm zeus himself
well, that's not really special
zeus came
and ruined it for everyone

now you're a cow

boy number 1
was so careless
he let locusts into his house
and his dear wife ran screaming
into another house
full of frogs

boy number 2
spent all his money
buying everything that could make him
into a top class superstar
now he's broke
and a buddhist
and somehow famous

boy number 3
had cursed hair that would **** him
if it was cut
he married a coiffeur in aquitaine
and shaved his beard after the divorce

cat number 1
pushed a beer bottle off the windowsill
GET OFF THE ******* SHELF, TACO
ok, he's licking my foot

poet number 1
drank gin after his cat
spilled his beer all over the basil plants
you can tell by how much
more stupid he progresses the thing
look, it was supposed to be a love poem from the start!

i am mush, in a pouch, hiding from the rain

could it be that it is just the hidden pain in growth that keeps me from seeing
we are to be marvelous in end

or do the caterpillars in cocoons feel pain
as their bodies dissolve
and live on conscious
with nothing but their stored energy
and their miraculous, thinking minds

stewing with memories of their youth
gaily, living in their past
before they decide to climb to their future

i have been well too acquainted with my shell
or chrysalis, or prison
i forget why i am here
and where i am
but i know
i put myself here

it is to grow
but is it for good?
am i a moth, or a butterfly
i often wonder
in reprise, i distract myself
i'll be eaten by birds anyways, if that is any consolation

will my wings spell out a name
or someone's initials
or a skull with empty eyes
will i be orange, with red
or white, with nothing
will i be blue

i don't think i will enjoy my emergence
i don't know if my fellow caterpillars will
i know that i didn't enjoy my metamorphosis

i only know that i have enjoyed my past
and i was in excitement making my shell
we do not enjoy our future
it is not certain if we will enjoy making it

but i do hope, when time comes
i'll have a fellow winged friend to circle around with
and i do hope, then in our hard-earned freedom
we enjoy the flowers we previously couldn't reach

i know, in time
i will face the rain once more

i hope, do hope
that it will be in confidence
knowing i am among them
in the sky

i haven't touched you in a while

i haven't stared at you for a while

i haven't been kissed by you for a while

i haven't dreamed

i haven't cried

i couldn't cry

i don't know if i can dream

i don't know if i can stare at you

my skin will crawl from a single tap

i don't know how everything changed

i haven't wondered yet

because despite everything, i feel within me

i haven't changed

i gaze upon the abyss
as the light on the end of the tunnel

i lift the sands of time by the kilo-second
to forge my looking glass
peering through the uncertain future

i have been broken down
onto my knees
and i have risen once more
with my shoes tied
ready to chase you down

you did not defeat me, blind malice
despite the world seeing me fall
i can see the world with it's care
its quiet deaths and lasting minutes

you did not change me
as i have changed my pain
you have not changed the sorrow you inflict
in a way that matters-
you did not defeat me

so help me till death,
the life of my love
the sickness and health

till death departs all
but suffering

i bought you a cheap concert uke
so you can strum away in your dark room
anytime deluge visits

i transcribed one of your favorite songs
in tab
so you can sing along with the windchimes
when it's stormy outside

and i know you strum aggressively
so strong that you broke the top end of your old uke
i bought you a bottle of superglue
in case that happens

and i know you think you're too loud sometimes
loud enough for every neighbor to hear
still, i know it doesn't bother you much
but i still strung the thing with lighter gauge strings

and i know your fits are bad
and i know you tend to break things
and i know how anger lasts for some of us
i know how it feels to have that kind of leech

but i know you'll persevere
you always do
faced with the maddened ups and downs
though i admit, it seemed
it's getting bad as the days go by

so i'll be there
to help you out a bit

if you feel like talking
or if you want that silence
still, i'm keeping check

god knows you've had enough of people
but i know no one lasts
stuck inside their own mind

come to me
and i'll give you beer
and some jokes
or i'll visit you
and you can brew us some tea
talk about tea

i wrote a message on some masking tape
and put it inside the soundboard

i hope you never get to read it.

the things i think of when i put my nose on your gift

washed dishes
light detergent
like your well pampered skin and well cleaned house

slightly rusted metal
dark *** and light *****
like the way you party and the way you sting

sampaguitas, well cooked rice
roses

like the colors of that sky
when the day ended

i am intoxicated by your scent

and i am intoxicated
by your memory

to whom that left me in the rain
i'll see you again, dry

to them who shared a drink with me
in the coffee houses with ***** fridges
i'll see you, thirsty

to the moon that turns red, and the stars that hide
i hope to see you brighten that splendid canvas

the butterflies often tell me
you have to worry this time
but to the ones that say
your day will ****
oh, i'll see you in a nice noon

and to the books that tell me
don't worry, you'll be sharing the sun with someone
sometime again

oh man, i'll see you

and to the changing roads, the moving bridges
aging guitars, young beer
you'll be annoyed by me, soon

i'm in love with you, stranger
would you like to join me
there is only so much space, so much time
i haven't met you yet, but i like your shoes
i like your umbrella
i like how you wear your tired smiles
i'll see you, hopefully

and to you's, all of you's
the one who shared some drinks
and stared at butterflies
in cold mountains
stared at sunsets
and velvet undergrounds

you'll know where to find me
oh, all of you will see
that i see you

my cat dreaming in my pillow
and i know she has nightmares too

i can tell from her breathing
from her short, broken meows

she doesn't let me pet her
and she meows at the empty sky
during ordinary nights

and it reminds me too much
of the queer afflictions
i have seen from so many

screaming at the moon
scratching their faces
their beautiful faces

and in their sleep
nightmares

i can tell from their breathing
from their short, broken words

and i wake them up
and offer them pancakes
or tea

or beer

but some won't let me help them
some stay in their silence
better off ignored to endure till health

like my dear cat
i give her some dinner
and she resumes
to stare
at the dark empty

and i think
if only that emptiness
had some tea and pancakes

the pretty part of waking up
to be covered by the breeze
of a new dawn
in it's purest

in a skyscraper
besides the glass walls
the blue of tired eyes and aches

of mornings
of unfinished coffee and breakfast
and forgotten kisses
from forgotten loves

it seemed eternal
the song of windchimes
and rusty bells
ushering a new day

i will remember not
this day
but the dawn you've made
will remain

remembering
the pretty part of waking up

she went placidly amid the noise and haste
of a roadside hotdog stand serving wieners on bun
the clueless vendor put the cooler holding frankfurters
on the floor for dessy to plunder on

she was lucky, really
to be well fed and well placed
the loud and aggressive little mice that act like massive rodents
telling her to get off her ***

but she lives life properly
as proper as she can go
luck shouldn't make ***** of people
(or rats, rather though)

it's still life, even the wheels of a mindless chevy
can ruin everything she's got
it may not be luck that gets her
away from being crushed by a truck

and it isn't luck
that drives her
she still runs around

it's still life, that gets you
even to mice
who try to make no sound

and dessy goes on
a child of the universe
rummaging through earned blessings
rhythm to the song

placidly amid the noise and haste
hoping to go on

it doesn't seem so bitter when i look at it, the sky
after it was so angry that it blotted out the sun for an eternal three hour six o clock
it wasn't really that bitter when your droplets landed on my head
it wasn't bitter when the cold of the wind blew my umbrella away

i look at you know and think
you've been through so much
just to be angry where i'm at
you didn't have to take it out on us
i know you just had to
i know it's alright
i know it'll happen again

but i look at the trail of cirrus above your wake
and i see they are tinted pink and orange
i see that they are yours
they are your soft fingers on my blue
and my calm after everything

you are telling me
it is okay
to feel this cold
to let go of the weight of our nature
it is past day
and you left us with your spirit in the sky
making the sun beautiful

and you are showing me
that i could still love you
that perhaps
what happens after
could still put us to ease.

do you think i'll ever forget you

i walked through storms for you
through kilometers of risk and peril
through the worse the world will ever be

do you think i'll ever forget

how you opened your arms
when i offered mine own
and when the choking hands of inner strife came
for both of us
we held through

and do you think i'll ever forget

the way i saw you smile
for the first time
in that stuffy room

me, absolutely insane
and you, in your own self made

you held me up and called me friend
you fingers sullied by my sweat

no, i will not

i care about you
and how the world will treat you

push me away
and i will leave you to yourself

but know that the past has made me decide
how i will defy fate

and when i have to
i will hold you up
until everything is better

for i have to
for the good of everything

i will never forget you

you were a dream i kept seeing awake
and when i closed my eyes i saw you once more
unreal but not untrue
and what i felt was truly real

and i tried with my best to make it reality
but it would not
you couldn't
the circumstances couldn't
i couldn't even, honestly

but bits and pieces are coming together
i hear that dream again
i could feel the warmth of that dream
i could see that dream smile, more and more
hear it sing, more and more
and with me
and with me
more
and more

oh, the anemoi
i have closed my eyes
and saw it again.
i embraced her
and she was beautiful

oh, the fates
let me wake
to the dream i am enveloped
be the morning truth

oh, my own morpheus
my self
let me wake
this time

and see her arms around me.

i think of "enough" when i think of my love for you
but "too much" is what i always remind myself
of what you feel
in sorrow, i embraced

i do not want to knock on the door of your beating heart with the pulse of my own

if you know how it feels
know what you have to feel
know what it's going to feel

then please
enter my heart.

she took off her shirt as i shut the door.

i didn't expect this. we were here for lunch.

her bra was pale lace. her hair was messy. her shirt covered her cellphone partially.

do you want to look pretty?

yes, she said.

take off your glasses.

i wouldn't be able to see you, though. i'll have to come closer, then.

very well, i said. but not any closer.

(there's still a stupid plague, you idiot)

she approached me slowly, like a votary to a cross.

the cross stood lightheaded. he didn't have breakfast.

what's your plan

i'll have you

like so many others before?

nothing quite like you

believe me, there's nothing quite like you too.

your **** are like supple english muffins on a plate.

(look i'm really hungry okay)

be serious with me now

no, i won't, i didn't expect this. and my head is throbbing.

i could help with that

she closed the gap between us. so much for safe distancing.

her face reached for mine. i backed away.

come on. what are you afraid of, she asked.

well for one, the plague. and there's nothing between us but air.

just once let me have what i need. only that one thing.

you mean jesus?

no, come on you ****.

.

.

the rain's here.

.

.

.

drip drip.

.

.

fine. one kiss. i'll count.

her lips touch mine. her breathing is warm on my face. she smells like the department store lady's section.

one

i notice her slip her tongue through my lips.

two

her cold hands climb up my back.

three.

she tastes like oatmeal.

that's it. you're done. get dressed now, you'll get cold. so will our rice

won't we do more than this? she asked.

(oh for christ sakes- more than that?)

how down bad are you really

how long has it been

do you not have internet and or a fairly sizable screen to view the copious amounts of ******* out there?

how long has it been?

she turned away. she looks conflicted.

i am conflicted as well. lunch is ruined.

i didn't mean to hurt you. it must be tough for you.

i miss things, she said. it's all been empty for a long time.

yeah. lonely.

nothing between us, ok. air. nothing.

but i mean for us to have a good time. as best as it can get these days. i am glad you're here

thank you.

.

.

i'll still have you though. i won't kiss you anymore.

.

.

fine. let's have our coffee first.

or are you the type to get gassy before you ****

*******, she said.

we laugh. it's nice to hear a laugh.

the rain stops.

.

.

.

can you stop being stupid

you're spilling your drink

the rest of his shot went into the gravel. so much for premium brandy

i just miss her man! he says as he downs his chaser

well, you shouldn't have been nosy with her phone

what do you mean nosy? she was the one who was texting!

i found it funny. here is a man who flirts relentlessly with random waitresses and random schoolgirls, but freaks when his girlfriend turns sapphic and runs to ******

take another shot and forget about it. you're gonna be back to work in the weekday

oh, **** that, dude.

i'm staying here and i'm gonna plant my roots here and lay in the sun with my mouth open until some eldritch ******* god rains sweet bread on my face

ok, moses, ******* hell. maybe wait for the burning bush, or when it's last call.

he takes his shot. i pour my last one as well.

.

.

he lodged at my place the next morning. i went outside on daybreak to look for cigarettes. i left him some white bread and an open jar of peanut butter

i took a seat in a neighborhood dump site. i feel as thrashed as the other guys here. the world is still blue

why did you have to leave him that way

he's a dimwitted reckless *******, yes, but he paid for our drinks and laughed at our jokes. and you two hit it off like it was high school and you were showing off

and everything was peaceful for the rest of us, **** you.

a crowd of nobodies and a bunch of hangouts.

fine, i get it. you found love. or adventure. or a prettier face with better chests and body odor.

he shouldn't have been looking. you shouldn't have been hasty.

you shouldn't miss each other.

.

.

.

a cat is staring at me from a garbage bag.

.

.

my cigarette tastes like ashes. i throw it away.

i come back to my apartment. he's still in the mattress.

wake up, *******, we're going to sunday school

uggggggggg

yeah.

i thought so.

.

.

she barged through the door, scaring my cat. i can hear her downstairs surging through my uncleaned mess. i forgot to clean the litter.

hey! she screamed out quietly. it sent my ears ringing.

oh hey there, i said. don't shout. i'm unarmed.

you weren't in school today. and yesterday. the whole week, in fact.

and the week before that, i reminded her.

idiot, what have you been doing

wait how did you get here i had the door locked

oh ******* come on what have you been doing?

hill climb racing. i'm almost near getting the hovercraft.

and

binging a dog and a teenager having adventures

and?

marinating

okay, get up. god, you look like a sad hairy cheeto.

and you look like a pretty girl in a catholic school uniform

shut up, she said. she smells of vanilla and burnt cooking oil

she got me out of my floor and into a cushion. twelve year old me would've been excited.

you don't just chat to me like that and expect me to take it well, you ***. especially not during friday ******* mass

sorry. i got carried away. my folks aren't here

i could tell. have you eaten

(ugh. her voice softened)

uh, no, i haven't. i had coffee. there's uhhh, there's m&m's in my bag besides the alcohol flask if you want some

okay, no, we're getting you food. god you smell like the boy's bathroom

i didn't care. i couldn't smell anything before that until she came around.

my head was ringing. coffee without breakfast is like running without shoes.

i stood up and stretched. i couldn't find my glasses; i had to wear my old ones with a cracked left lens.

she looked pretty with her untied hair and her boring grizzly sweater. there was a blotch on her sleeve.

look, my wallet is in the table below and my folks gave me enough shekels to buy greece

there's a store in the next street that sells waffles. get a tub of ice cream too and get whatever you want or something.

and you expect me to mother you?

ugh just buy the thing and take a hundred for yourself, please.

she looked ******. and tired. i recognized a glint in her eyes.

fine. take a bath.

i will.

oh and also

what?

buy beer.

ugh.

.

.

.

the rain's here.

.

.

she came back with goods. i was drying my hair.

that was quick, i said

yeah, i know, and you took a bath during that time. did you even touch soap?

come on, open up the waffles.

she handed me the shopping bag. i took her arm

hey!

sorry, i said. but it's bleeding again.

no, it's the rain.

don't even, catholic girl. it's red.

she shied away

.

.

eat the **** ice cream, she said.

.

i went downstairs. i returned with plates, utensils, a bottle opener, and gauze

come on now, i said. let's do this all over again.

she sat besides me on my bed and showed her arm. several careless wounds and bare red marks.

there's alcohol in my bag, she said.

ha, me too

she doesn't look amused.

i applied a few sprays. she winces slightly. the glint in her eyes intensify.

how recent was this?

wednesday.

and how about your other arm

she rolls her sleeve. it was uglier before.

they still think it was the dog, the teachers. at least it's not long and straight and obvious

and the other guys?

you really think they'd talk to me about this?

ha, no. of course they wouldn't.

and neither would the other girls, except they would be talking about this to each other.

i wrap her wounds with the gauze. the glint turns into a tear.

you shouldn't have been absent. the teachers are mad about it

i don't care. it's not like you and that lot liked my company anyways

yeah, you're right. you're insufferable.

i cough out a laugh. she has a sad smile.

i fix her wrap in a tight knot.

the rain stops

can we have some food now please? she blurts out. i can hear her choking her emotions

okay. just relax now. i'm sorry i messaged you like that earlier.

you better be, you ****.

and i'm sorry i made you run under the rain.

and i'm sorry i only got a single spoon.

ugh, she goes. typical.

and i'm sorry i had to see this, again.

no, i'm sorry. this isn't about me

it's not about me, either.

it's all **** out there. but i'm not letting you go home with another shard of glass, now.

okay, she said. should've bought cans, then.

heh.

.

.

.

i don't know how to finish this prose.

it's been a while since i talked to her.

though she was never online on anywhere since then.

i should have given her some scar cream.

.

.

.

.

i biked there all morning

i can see her gym pants hanging in the veranda. she still wears it even though its been years since high school.

there are thunder clouds in the sky. the day is beginning to erupt.

so am i. i've been waiting for an hour.

her inbox is littered with "wake up's". i typed down each letter of the alphabet in her chat after that got boring. when i ran out of letters i resorted to numbers.

I WONT RUN OUT OF THOSE ONES NOW EH? I'LL BE WAITING HERE FOREVER YOU HAG. send

1

2

3

4

5

my left leg is cramping

6

7

8

9

...

my right leg is cramping

..

59

60

61

62

63

64

65

66

67

68

69, god i wish i were doing that to you rn

70.

i stopped and stared for a moment. the weather looks grim. i light a cigarette.

it tasted like sweat. so much sweat for so many people, and she was last on the list.

seven days ago i had perfected a kimchi recipe. it had my blood, sweat, and tears on it, mainly due to me handling hot chili powder.

it was the first thing i could taste for weeks then.

sure it was tangy and spicy and had a resemblance to boiled cardboard, but it tasted like triumph.

but i couldn't eat two liters of those so i packed it and gave it away. one to a friend, two to a friend, one to some other friend.

and one to her.

let them taste triumph. let them know that success is sour and hot and somewhat boring.

let them know that i am still alive and has a clean kitchen and functioning legs and a functioning cell phone.

let her know that i am okay

but i didn't know why i wanted her to know that

she didn't care. so should i likewise. why care about caring for someone who won't care back

i took a drag. i sigh. i remember why

"care. everyone should care. because everyone does in the end."

she said that, not me.

i reach a breaking point. i close my eyes

i imagine her with another man. he's taller by another inch, his hair is waxed, he's in the same university and the same sidewalk and the same elbows as the one i liked.

i imagine her crying. she's always crying. she has him come closely with a drink in hand and paper towels.

i imagine the scene in the pulpit stairs where they pose for pictures, her in her perfect white gown with flowers in her hair, him in his candlestick head and soot black italian suit. and me in the back of the crowd, with rotten cabbage in my backpack and sweat in my shoulders.

i throw the ****** kimchi at her veranda. let her pants know what triumph tastes like, for all i care.

i run from her street, leaving my poor bike as witness. i run and run and run and run until my legs tear off and my arms fly away. i run away from some ****** past and all those ****** choices. i run until i'm dead. i have never felt so alive.

...

i open my eyes. the sun shines.

...

14321.

i mount my bike. i let plan b know that i am coming to her house. she's also not awake.

pedal pedal pedal. god i feel so weak. i am the strongest man in these streets.

...

i arrive at north. her windows are barred.

WAKEUP WAKEUP WAKEUP WAKEIP WAKUEP send

...

...

1

2

3

4

oh hey good morning. how long have you been waiting? you biked all the way?

i met her a few months ago. her hair is pretty. i know i'm going to ***** this one up too.

she was right with that quote.

.

.

.

oh my god she smells like roses and vanilla and axe body spray

she moves so gracefully in every small step, even in ordinary walking

okay, dude, calm down. she's also a year older than us

i couldn't even believe it when she came and talked to me. it was like angels talking through string and cans

okay, what did she say

she said, "hi"

(oh for ****'s sake)

that's it? what else

nothing, she went to the cafeteria

that's angels talking through can and string? i would've expected some gabriel talking to joseph but "hi"?

it was more than that, dude. it was an experience

you know what else is an experience? an actual hook up. or taking a nice **** after physical education.

you just don't know, man. that hi was more sweet than pure honey. you're just not like poetic like me dude.

yeah, you're right.

(*******. it's "sweeter than")

sweeter than, mr neruda. talk like our prof.

aw **** him. did you know he's hooking up with our science teacher?

yes, we know. the whole fifth floor knows. madam gabriel knows, dude, find something else to gossip.

okay, did you know there was an incident at the third floor bathroom

yes, a teacher had diarrhea. we could smell that gossip, neruda.

did you know that adam had eve?

shut up with that now

(we had a schoolmate named eve. adam was the principal. i thought eve liked me)

i really thought she liked you, dude.

yeah well so do kittens, mate. they like you until they stop feeding off you and they want to get off detention.

you ought to hang with us, soon. mate's inviting the angel

yeah, to hang out with gremlins. you know i despise those guys

you don't despise company, though. you're lonely

alone, not lonely. i have several to keep me company.

yeah, whatever. see you at class.

yep.

.

.

i skipped the last hours of class. i met up with her at the adjacent 711

you know they can see us from there, right? she asked

man, she really does sound more sweet than honey.

see if i care, darling.

don't call me that, you sound like a creep.

ok

you know my friend likes you

no, i like you. i like you better. you smell like a bakery and a flower shop had legal disputes

she laughs. it's nice to hear a laugh.

we buy some cigarettes and a hot dog. we shared everything since we're broke

i ought to stay with you later instead. someone's invited me to hang.

you have school work, sister. you're also graduating

i can pass easily. english teacher likes me.

ugh, ew. not him.

and not them, either. i'm bored but i'm not committed.

there won't be fun in my house. father's home

i'd rather hang with him, then

oh shut with that. your cigarettes almost at your edge.

she tosses it away. gracefully. like a butterfly littering.

you know, we can go to my place instead.

and do what exactly? chores?

no, *******. you can help me with some stuff.

no i'm not doing your homework again. i'm not even in your level dude stop shoving shakespeare in my face

ugh, fine. let's just watch some stuff.

hmmm.

.

.

.

i went home instead. she's nice but i won't bother.

he chatted me again later that night.

yo, you were gone for the rest of the class. where were you?

oh, nowhere.

just talked to an angel with a can and string.

.

.

.

.

"i really like you. i have no idea why, but i do."

why do you have to complicate it

complicate everything

it's not poetry, and i don't even read plath, or sexton, or yeats

no, i don't have to complicate anything. i love you

love, oh love- what does it mean?

it doesn't have to mean anything

yes, but IT DOES. IT HAS TO

don't be angry now, it's not supposed to make you angry

what, the *****? the bourbon? that disgusting korean hand sanitizer? no it's supposed to taste like flowers and make me feel like i'm in a massage

calm down

i'm in love

yes, i know. calm down

love's supposed to calm me. being in love with you's supposed to calm me. i'm supposed to feel something here other than love!

NO, I AM NOT SUPPOSED TO FEEL ANYTHING ELSE BUT LOVE

are you? am i? is it?

i'm sitting in your bed and you're on the floor.

she's behind the gate and i'm on the sidewalk

she's in the kitchen and i am at the bathroom

when did all of this got so complicated

...

as a kid, i had a lady friend. we were both 5

we'd meet every 3 pm when our handlers ventured out.

she'd only wear the same pink dress every time we'd meet. she had her hair in pigtails and i was with my harry potter fishbowl

we'd slide down the slides and swing in the swings. we'd run around the *****, empty park.

once, when sunset came, she took my hand and led me to a bush to hide from our guardians.

she told me she would never forget me.

i told her that when we would grow up i would marry her.

she smiled and held my hand tightly.

we thought kissing was *****. we would lean and touch foreheads together, and hushed our breathing.

i never knew her name.

...

and now look at this dumb ****

poor little fella, he's ruined his life.

he thrives off painkillers and hides behind alcohol.

he has to do all those things now, because he's old

and big, and stupid

and he hopes

oh, he hopes

that the next ones would be gentle

and in turn, he would be gentle

slowly releasing from her grasp, leaving the bed to make breakfast

talking about anything else but life, or at least the best things about life

and he wonders

if she would be fine with him and her touching foreheads

.

.

.

how was your sleepover

she liked the bacon ham peanut butter hangover cure

oh, did she now?

yeah.

she did.

.

.

you? you're gorgeous

no, do me better, poet. come on, don't be shy

she stood up from the bed and sat on a monoblock chair. she's as bare as a newborn

you're naked.

yes. yes i am.

she sips her cold coffee. or at least i hope it was cold; i refuse to believe we finished that quickly

tell me more.

her voice sounds...

why do you sound like an english teacher? i swear all of my old teachers sound like that

please. if i tie my hair and wear my glasses and act like a librarian would it make you go for round two?

she fixes her hair.

no, you act like a... well...

what is it?

let's just say... mary magdalene

she laughs.

mary wasn't a *****. she was wealthy

i didn't mean to call you that

no, no, it's fine. i DID wear the sluttiest of my underwear

jeez, lady.

come on. describe me

be as weird as you can

okay? uhhhhh

didn't i call your ***** pieces of bread

yes, you did. very offensive by the way. you could have called them loaves

uhhh...

i ponder. i can be as shakespearean as i could

well... your uhhh, your hair is like... uhhh... wet silk on an alabaster statue...

she laughs again.

come on, i've read your poems. your crudeness is unique

really now. i haven't heard that one before

i stood up. there are ants on our plates. i lean on the bed post of the double decker

no, there's nothing special about your hair. it looks like ****

says you, she said. your hair is messy

and so are yours, lady. it looks like squid ink noodles on a mannequin

how about my eyes

it's brown. nicely brown, actually. like polished mahogany

and my neck?

chiseled, and thin. those ridges are like marble

my chest?

wide, but thin. and those loaves of yours were tasty

she smiled. a promiscuous smile

it's the roof of a japanese castle, freckled with autumn leaves

my belly?

smooth. a calm river under moonlight

her eyes joined her licentious smile.

my.... hips?

just the right amount. i wouldn't call it child-bearing, though

i come close. she stands up and approaches

my arms?

she drapes over my shoulders

the right amount, too. like some smooth waxen candlesticks

she presses closer. she smells cold

my... legs?

too short. it couldn't even hoist you up to kissing level

she goes for one. my lips arrive to hers.

i told you i would only do one kiss.

that makes you a liar, then. or a failure.

i am fine with failing once.

i grab her head and press her tight to mine.

it starts to rain again.

.

.

.

when are you going to leave

when it stops raining

i have an umbrella you can borrow

no, it's fine. i don't like it when it's cold

liar. you weren't trembling earlier

you were, though.

yeah

i was

.

.

.

how beautiful is that.

a 711 in sunset.

...

in the fall of 20XX i visited every 711 i've ever been to.

i set off in the early morning.

i started with the farthest, in the side of a motorway, sixty miles from my city.

when i arrived, the world was still blue, and the cashier was still sleeping on the counter. i bought my first bottle of water for the day there.

there was nothing special in here, i thought, other than the fact that it felt like the farthest familiar place i've been to.

.

.

.

i took a taxi back to the city, to it's seaside. as the sun rose i arrived at a grand hotel.

it was a sight to behold. but a horror to stand around in; the stench of the city seaside smelled like all the worst parts of a seafood market back dumpster.

i crossed the avenue to the 711 adjacent from the hotel. there i bought another bottle of water and sat to stare at the sunrise.

.

.

it was better back then, i thought.

the last time i was in that 711 was the afternoon before a js prom.

i bought a bottle of gin and a bottle of grapefruit juice. i mixed those and gave it to my friends.

they needed it; they were scared shitless of their dates. i needed it too; to survive the stench of a stinking sea i really did prefer just removing my sense of smell entirely.

once our confidences were healed back and our ties and collars were sufficiently stinking of alcohol we ventured into the hotel.

i exited the 711 and stood at the bay walk area besides the hotel. the sun is rising in the east right now, but in that prom day then we would've been treated with a sunset.

there is nothing like the sight of a hundred suits and dresses in a hotel courtyard, illuminated by the light of a sunset amplified by a million reflections from ocean waves.

i would say that now, but me back then would have thought differently.

unfortunately for me i was drunk for the duration of that day and night, and the only beauty i was eager about was that of my own date.

but even then it wouldn't have been the same without the sunset.

her in a lilac dress, her hair glowing like fire from the sunlight, her face perfect in shade and shadow and hue.

even a drunk wouldn't forget such a sight.

.

.

i left the seaside once the sun was high.

.

.

the next 711 i went to was in the inner city, right besides a university.

it wasn't far from the hotel, so i walked all the way. i intended to sweat all the water i drank so i wouldn't have to *** behind a 711.

i arrived at noon. i bought another bottle of water, and one of their hotdogs cooked in the steam of sewage.

god, for such an awfully average establishment, one couldn't deny how much impact it has for a lot of people.

for the kind like me, a teenager back then, who wouldn't have been able to hang out in bars and parks and such, the 711 was where we ended up in.

they'd let anyone in, let anyone hang around as long as you bought anything, and the cashiers would just let a kid buy any ***** he wanted, since they weren't paid enough anyways to deny business.

for a kid like me back then, i would always end up in a 711. when the classes ended, or before they started, or even when i chose to ignore going to school altogether and went on random adventures, still, i would end up in a bench inside the 24 hour orange green red.

and for an entire spring in 201X, it was in this 711 i ended up in every afternoon. inside a busy city, besides a university.

and i would get my phone, send a million messages saying "i'm nearby", and then wait for her.

.

.

fancy university girl. glowed bright as a star, brighter than anyone in high school, and was now in her rightful place in the heavens.

heaven being an overpriced sweat shop for smart people.

(of course, no one told her that joining the stars in the heavens would only make you as bright as they are, or as dull as they are. sure, i guess they'd be taught what apparent and absolute magnitude is, but bet you they won't realize how it applied to them.)

i would wait for hours.

sure, i would have spent my time walking around the city and loitering around and discovering thrift shops and alleys and sewers and such, but eventually that wore me down and i would just sit in the quiet of the store awaiting her.

and when her classes ended, she did arrive.

for the first few weeks she would rush to me, sometimes even with an embrace, but often with enthusiasm anyways, and we would spend the time together.

i would buy her something and she would tell me her day in the classrooms and i would tell her my day in the alleys.

it was well for a while. it made the effort of travelling worth it.

but after a while her cheer faded. her stories dampened, replies dull.

i asked her what was wrong.

she would tell me she had problems.

though then days after that she would only tell me she was tired.

days after that she'd say she didn't want to talk about it.

after that, nothing at all.

and then the days would get colder.

she would stop responding to my messages, but i would still be waiting.

and eventually i would see her, across the street. and i know she could see me too.

but then she ripped that glance off her face, and boarded a bus.

.

.

it stung then. of course it would sting.

spring ended into another summer. for me however, it didn't feel like summer. i felt cold under the sun. under layers i would still feel cold. in hot buses it would still be cold. within the bustling unforgiving city, within all it's smoke and steam and heat, still it would be cold.

you would ask why i was still in the city. i still went, to wait. besides the university, in the 711, in the same seat.

it stung, yes, but it's never just the first sting that you go through. it itched. and i had to itch. i couldn't stop bothering it.

not the best behavior, i know, but i didn't bother then. i couldn't care less about what i was doing.

i still waited until her dismissal time. and i would see her, of course, across the street, on her way. i knew she could see me, because she never again glanced towards where i was. she would take the first bus she sees.

this went for a while. about a month. until the last day of semester.

there was an event in the school grounds that day. everyone wore the same shirt. students were coming in and out of the 711, buying amenities, buying soda, chips, *****.

i watched out for her, in case. though with difficulty, since they all wore the same clothes, and all the girls all looked the same from behind with their hair.

but i watched out, for one with a pair of thick framed glasses. i watched out for anyone carrying a brown faux leather sling bag. i watched out for anyone standing at about 5'4.

crowds passed, came and went. dismissal time arrived, yet i still haven't seen her. i decided to wait a bit more.

the crowds became thinner, yet still i haven't spotted her.

i bought a bottle of dark ***, and mixed it with coke, as my late lunch. maybe i thought the alcohol would help with the spotting. maybe i thought it could help with the waiting. maybe i just needed it.

sunset came, and i still didn't spot her.

in desperation (or utter idiocy), i did the one thing you probably shouldn't do when you're (for a lack of a better term) stalking someone: i called her.

no, not even a text message, a call. god was i stupid.

she answered the call.

"hello?" it sounded. behind her voice was music, and cheers.

i hung up. i said nothing. she could still be in the campus. or home. or someone elses.

i was ready to give up then. for a moment i stopped thinking about her, and considered what i was doing.

but i was stumped. honestly, i had no idea what i was doing. all those months all i was doing was winging it. i had no plans.

i drank all the rest of my *** and chased it with the last drops of coke i had.

somehow, i felt too tired to go. i stayed in my seat. i wasn't waiting anymore, but i stayed anyways.

sunset turned to dusk. i sat. i sat and stared at the blue of the world, stared so hard i didn't notice the blue turn to black.

suddenly, i felt sweat. and heat. it could've been the alcohol.

i stood and left the 711. in drunken boredom, i decided to walk around the circumference of the university block.

i distracted myself. the world was pretty; the shining light of traffic, the window lights of high rises, all heightened and saturated by drunken eyes. i took three laps around the school.

after the last lap, i was finally tired enough. i decided to go.

i waited on the pedestrian. right across me was the 711.

there were barely any people around anymore. i looked around.

inside the 711 was the cashier, and two people seated. students of the university. one of them was a tall man with waxed hair. the other was a girl with glasses. there was a brown bag on the table.

she looked at the window. i kept my eyes on her. we held our vision for a moment, until a bus came in between us, stopping at the red light.

i broke my focus and boarded the bus.

.

.

i hate this 711, i have decided.

i ****** on the back alley of it and left for the next one.

.

.

the next few 711's were not much special.

one was on the city edge, besides another gas station. my memories within it aren't interesting. i bought energy drinks here, and that's it.

the next was besides another school building. nothing special here either, just an establishment i bought stuff in. i think i may have visited this 711 while drunk.

this one is besides an interesting road, full of antique shops and japan surpluses. of course, nothing happened in this 711, since i always went for the shops afterwards.

then there's this one, a stray 711, within another inner city, right at the commercial district. where my farmers market resides, where the only pub in town resides.

unsurprisingly, i seldom visit this one, since i always go for the bar first. but this place stood out from the others, because of the cats.

the cats live in the farmers market where they prowl around in the meat section. some of the shop keeps adopt them for pest control. others for some additional display.

who wouldn't like to buy vegetables AND pet a cat at the same time.

this was the 711 i go to after i get inebriated in the pub. after a few beers, i buy an energy drink to assist me as i return home.

and this 711 had it's own shop cat. a brown tabby who hangs out besides the parking lot.

and he would meet me every time i visit the establishment.

yeah, i like this 711, i have decided. i'm welcome in the bars and pubs, but i have never felt more welcomed by a place than this. the cat would always come close and purr when i pet him.

he was a sight for sore eyes, even drunk eyes. one time i gave him a piece of meat i bought from the market.

i looked around the 711 area. he doesn't seem to be here right now.

surely, he's still alive. i've never had a day without him when visiting. but it seems he isn't here.

i decided to wait him out. i bought a pack of cigarettes and sat on the store stairs.

maybe he's in the farmers market. or prancing about in some different store. maybe someone adopted him. that would be nice.

i waited for an hour. i smoked a million cigarettes. the storeowner must be suspecting me for sitting on his stairs and polluting the air.

and when my millionth and one cigarette burned away, i decided to leave.

i seem to be doing a lot of waiting around for someone to come. but i've learned my lesson not to stray and stay too much.

it was fine for me to not see him today. he's a cat, not an ex girlfriend.

the light of the afternoon was blazing on the horizon. i felt nauseous. i decided to leave for the pub.

.

.

i had two beers and peanuts. 711's don't serve peanuts to people who drink in them, you have to buy them yourself.

it was three in the afternoon when i left the pub. i wasn't drunk, but i had enough drinks to stir my body. i went from the pub to the 711 again, to buy a drink before i go to my last stop.

and there he was, sitting besides a parked motorcycle. he got fatter, and he's wearing a worn out collar.

i went close and he did likewise. i petted the big cat. he purred like he was mine. what a nice cat.

.

.

i took a bus to my last stop. the sky was beginning to look beautiful again, as the sun set.

my final stop was the first 711 i've been to. which happened to be close to my house, and close to my schools.

there was nothing special about this 711, other than provenance and memory. it was as big as any other 711, with a parking lot and dining tables.

but being right between several schools, this establishment was always full of patrons of every age and status. university boys who finished playing in their basketball courts. nerds who order bottles of mountain dew and cough syrup. teachers who sit with the misfits every after class. it was the student's spot.

i had many fond memories of this place. my first bottle of gin. my first argument with a classmate. accidentally breaking a lamp with my friends, which ended up with us being barred from the store for two months. good times.

but some unsavory ones too, especially on the last days i went here. first police warning. first breakup. first theft. and some hurtful memories.

i sat on the waiting bench parallel to the 711. i watched as the sun crawls down on it's imprint on the windows.

i have decided i didn't like this place.

.

.


i lit another cigarette as the sun sank beneath the clouds, turning them into a lit mosaic of broken reds. how beautiful is that, a 711 in sunset.

i though of the last time i went here.

that phone call.

.

.

it was an hour before midnight. i received a phone call from a friend telling me to meet her in the 711. i happened to be at the pub when this occurred.

i said "yeah, i'll be there, but in this time of night?"

i boarded the bus and arrived at the 711. she was sitting on the steps. she wore a big baggy sweater. her hair was in disarray, and even in the shadow backlit by the store lights i could see her reddened cheeks and ruined makeup.

i asked her, "are you okay?"

she nodded, but with a deep expression. we sat on the seats outside the shop.

"why'd you call me today?" i asked.

she kept silent. she was eyeing the inside of the 711.

"i just got a bit of extra cash. Want a drink?" i asked her.

"no, i just needed to meet someone today." she said.

i could tell she was not well. "Was it (--------)?"

"i don't have to tell you." she said.

"was it your family?" i asked again.

"no, no" she took a sip of water.

"school, then?"

she said nothing.

"christ, why did you ask me here then?" i retorted. i was inebriated, not polite.

she didn't respond. she took another sip. she sobbed a little bit.

a silence. it went for a minute. she drank all of her water.

.

.

.

"we can't keep meeting without you telling me nothing. I should at least know why we're here in the middle of the night."

"christ, do you have to know everything?" she grabbed her things, stood and went, wiping her face.

i stood to catch her. "(------), no, come here."

she was crying. her sobs were broken. it shook me, hearing someone cry.

"you don't have to tell me, just don't cry."

"you can't tell me that right now."

"okay then, cry. just--" i was lost for words. this has never happened to me before.

"you're an *******. why do you have to be like that right now. why is everyone-" she wailed. she was crying hard.

"please, (------). don't cry. i don't know what to do about this."

"just hold me, please. it's all you have to do."

i hugged her. i felt her sweater more than i felt her body. i was thin and bony; hugging her didn't feel correct. i felt like i was a cage.

"why does it all have to happen all at once? it's too much for me." she said. i was still clueless, but she was crying.

"there there, now." i was saying all the usual words. i didn't know what was the right thing to say. there is very little i could do about sudden crying.

"i can't do it anymore. it's too much."

those words struck me. i had no idea what to say.

i held her for a while, outside the 711. there was no one around to see us. there was only her, crying and sobbing, and me, clueless and helpless.

.

.

that was a year ago, after the school season.

that was the first someone has ever cried to me, in that way.

it was... unusual. i felt like it was too sudden, too unusual. though i know what could've been troubling her, i didn't expect tears. and that line...

i rummaged through my mind of all my memories of her.

sitting around and drinking outside the shop. watching her and her boyfriend dance around, locked in each other's hands, when a good song plays on the radio. sitting on the bench, talking about our lives and troubles, as the sun set.

all shadowed by that memory of her, in the night, crying on my arms. and that line...

"i can't do it anymore..."

i never got to talk to her again. she's ghosted me for quite a while, and never responded to anyone from our circle again.

it ruined me a bit, and my memories of this place.

.

.

and i never got to visit this 711 again. since then, i faced my own downward spiral and went distant from so many.

but i'd still go around adventures and walk around the avenues, within the city and within memory.

i sat in front of the last and first of my 711's as the sun disappeared. after a few smokes i stood and left for home.

.

.

what did i accomplish from this trip? **** all. i just needed an excuse to go around town. though i am reminded of how much little places can mean, even just the liminal corners we visit.

and i was partly reminded of what my adventures meant. what i've gone through from the years through these little stores we visit.

from a prom, to a stint of obsession, to a hard time, to cats.

and i am to visit a lot more 711's in my time. maybe the same ones, or even new ones.

besides, i know i'll be needing to go to 711's often, for drinks and food.

who knows what the years have in store for us, even in the smallest of places?

.

.

i look back at the store as it shrinks away, within the darkness...

have you been eating well? i asked

yes, she said. her face was shining

your sleep?

quite well. i wake up in the morning now, at least.

vaccine?

one shot. and i'll be having a booster shot soon.

great. great.

.

.

we had beer today. she brought over some pastries. for once i was not left hungry.

she was wearing a beige sweater. she wore boots instead of slippers. she wore the same glasses.

you changed your lightbulb, she said.

yeah, orange now. a bit better, innit?

honestly? for me, not really. it makes the place look like a western.

oh. ok.

.

.

why don't we go upstairs? she asked

it's a mess. i had a re-haul of sorts. i'll have no visitors there.

oh, ok.

.

.

there was a silence as i finished my beer. she finished hers as well.

i grabbed a cup of water. i had to take my meds. i opened the last day of my pill box.

you still take a lot of meds?

i have to, i said. the old ones. some vitamins. this horse pill.

really? that one?

heh, yeah. it's not that big of a deal.

she held a chuckle.

this one's for humans. mother got it from a pharmacist, not a vet. not sure if if does anything, but it's pretty much just nothing. i just take it so she'd get off my ***.

she kept her snark. it was nice to hear a laugh.

i took my pills and washed it down. taking so many still left me feeling like i swallowed a stone.

she was staring. her expression was... unco.

what are we going to do now, she asked

i took a breath to clear my chest. i felt stiff.

you know what, why don't we go outside. it's past the hot hours.

sure, why not.

get your mask.

.

.

.

it was the finest week of september. the sky was streaked by yesterday's rainclouds. there would be a pretty sunset today.

it was not a busy sunday.

no one would be walking to church.

there would still be no children playing, nor old people in their garden chairs gossiping with their neighbors.

and there were no cars in this particular afternoon.

it was quiet.

.

.

we walked slowly.

she told me her usual gossip. i responded with the usual humor. the standard back and forth customary within slow walks.

i still felt stiff as we went. she looked relaxed by comparison. she seemed to be in better form than me the whole day.

there's usually no one in the park these days, i said.

well yeah, no one's going outside.

they still do. but a lot more subdued, i think. though these days are a lot better.

yeah.

.

.

we reached the park.

the slides and swings were empty. the covered court right besides it was empty as well. adjacent was a quiet construction site. it had replaced the trees and bushes that this park once had. this place has changed over the years.

we sat in a concrete bench. i ripped my mask off to breath the empty air.

she kept hers on. she wore a cloth mask with an embroidered figure in pink.

wait, are you vaccinated? she asked.

yep. that single dose one made by the people who make shampoo. sure felt like i was injected shampoo too.

ah.

she took her mask off as well. she took a breath. it came out sounding like a sigh.

are you a lot better now? i asked.

yes, i am. believe me. you?

don't ask me yet.

okay. do you still talk to your friends?

not really.

work?

no.

school?

ha, no.

.

.

do you still write?

no. couldn't.

well, that never stopped you before. what was that quote that you always say?

what quote?

the one about everyone being a poet.

ah, right. everyone makes poetry, but only some write it down.

that always was a funny one. i liked hearing that a lot from you drunk.

yeah.

for someone who despises cliché quotes, you always repeat that like everyone didn't hear it.

only when drunk. i say a lot of cliché stuff when drunk.

i liked those times. times with crowds. and beer. and clichés.

i like them too. those times will come again.

yeah.

and we'll be a lot older, with a lot more stories to tell.

yeah. some more drunken poetry from you.

.

.

the minutes towards sunset arrived.

.

.

you never liked my poems. i never saw you as one who would care for those, other than like song lyrics.

i like it. i like it coming from you too.

oh. ok. thanks.

it's nice to hear. i liked it when you describe and stuff.

it's not that creative. it's not even clever.

and that one afternoon...

yeah, that one. that wasn't so long ago.

she faced me. her hair was glowing within the golden light.

she wore blush. i could never tell why women would want to look like that. a blush could mean so much different emotions.

.

.

.

no writing. tell me a poem. describe me.

now?

it's the perfect time.

.

.

the last of the sun peaked over the building roof.

the light reflected from the greater clouds colored the lesser haze in vermillion; blush over the darkening blue.

the green and trees and bare scaffolding in their shadow, embellished by the setting light, as articulate and abstract as an impressionist frame.

the remnant of the afternoon heat drove the wind to chorus, and now it sings a soft encore.

the world loses another warmth, but the chill of this hour will soothe, before another freeze.

and the image of you

within this

the world, fickle and sibylline

but always, with everything, ethereal

with you, divine.

.

.

.

"you're beautiful."

.

.

she smiled. she leans for a kiss.

i take it. it was not as cold as it usually felt.

.

.

.

.

are you a lot better now?

a bit. remind me to give you some ivermectin later.

funny.

we broke distance again. better be safe.

she laughs. her expression became dissolute.

keep your worm pill. come here.

.

.

.

i always wondered
why we repeat things
thrice

not more than, nor less

when you have to haste
go, go, go

when it's all wrong
no, no, no

when you want to be dramatic
why, why, why

and i think of all the things that echo once it's been said

you didn't have to say it thrice to pass your point
yes, i get it.

it had to echo in my chambered head
never, never, never