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2001-07-20 || 4:42 p.m. || because there is no television i have a hard time being distracted from these things. || i don't like that you bound up the stairs to your apartment with daddy long legs, putting flights between us, all that wood and multi-purpose paint. you are unlocking your door, disturbing the air of your apartment, and i am still in the hallway reconstructing what it would look like switched around: we are on the stairs to my apartment, carpet and beige and scented oil plugged into electric sockets, and i am two steps in front of you, wishing the staircase were wider so that we could be holding hands. i am such a brat. i am too sensitive to things. you don't wait for me at the front door. you don't sit beside me in the spot i have cleared blankets and clothes for you. you are reading a u.s news and weekly world report from 1973, pulling off your socks, humming the merle haggard song playing on the radio, and i have to head-butt you in the stomach, attempt to curl up in your lap in my clumsy big way, and breathe hot angry breath on your ankles to get you to touch me. isn't that how it happened? i am forgetting about once the lights went out and we smiled in the dark and called each other names, when you stood up on the bed and did dances with funny names. i forget laughing into my pillow and pulling you back down so that we could hide under the covers. i just want you to fill up the same spaces. i just want to know it's not so cold. guestbook || notes || archives || profile || photos || d-land |