This is where I let myself be In It.
Every time I say the word “caramel,” I say it differently. I don’t have a way that I say it. Most people, I think, pick one, or were raised with one, and always use that one way. They argue over which way is right, and over which way sounds better. But I just… don’t have one. Every time I need to say it, a split second before I run through all the ways there are, snatch one up, and use it. Later, I can’t even remember which it was. Otherwise, I might have settled for one by now.
Oh man, I just heard the greatest laugh through my window from the street… like a young woman in Italy. Wearing a white summer dress, sitting on the back of a moped that’s about to take off. Wearing a grand white straw hat that she has to hold all the time to keep it from blowing away…
Sorry. Got a little carried away, there. That was… not my point entirely.
I’m honestly just, at a loss for words right now. In my life. In this bright, endless city. This morning I woke up late. I borrowed my roommate’s skateboard to get to the bus faster, and I can’t even skate.
And yeah, there’s Beth.
Isn’t it true that some one who’s had an appendage amputated gets ‘phantom itches’? Or, they some how can still feel the leg or arm that isn’t there? I… Have absolutely no idea what that would feel like. As in… None. Not the slightest inkling.
I feel so full right now. I want to just, scream. Just sigh. But not a human, earthly sigh. A sigh that’ll drift on and out forever and stretch the edgeless edge of the universe. Huge and billowing. It would rip up the earth’s atmosphere on its way up, it would sweep me away like an undertow. It… would be enough, if it existed.
Why do I keep loving people? I don’t know why I do it. What’s more, is why do I keep getting them to love me? Why has it always been one way, and now it’s suddenly just, just different. She’s just not like anyone else. And suddenly, I am. I’m just like every one else who loves her.
Beth. Say it. Isn’t it beautiful?
I think too much. I go over it and over it in my head. I reread her letters. I stare at her pictures. I’ve only known her a month. I’ve only seen her three times. Last night we drove and drove for hours. Through fields and fields. It was so dark. I blasted Radiohead and Cat Power. We didn’t talk. Just… drove. I love to drive. Even though my skin is on fire, with her a foot away from me, I can still loose myself in the road, slipping under me. We climbed a hill and watched the stars. We got coffee and then sat on the sidewalk, huddled under a blanket from my trunk until sunrise. And I never touched her. Not once. Not ever. She’s the strangest situation I’ve ever been in.
And fuck if I’m not in love with her.
there's not much to me, really.
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