Saturday, October 23, 2010

Help, I'm Alive.

Weekends are for riding in cars with strangers.
They're for celebrations, dancing, mixing drinks,
and I'm sure that for a brief hour, if the world had ended, we would've all died happy.

The night was cold.
Your room was cold, and so were you.
I wish I had taken fewer shots so it wouldn't be so blurred in my memory.

But try as I might, I couldn't make falling asleep on the couch afterwards while you made spaghetti
anything particularly beautiful.
That was all I could think about on the ride back,
trying not to think about trying not to think about you.

What was particularly beautiful, though, was the moon the night I got back, a canary-yellow orb suspended midway between the sky and the ground, cool wind blowing my wet hair and parched skin. It's impossible not to be happy on a night like this.

But I went back to my room and wept like a child who just lost a valuable possession.
After all, I kind of did, in a way.


  1. That was beautiful and tragic in a way I can't quite put my finger onto.

  2. I agree with Scattered-strings. It's sad and lacking, something has gone missing but I don't know what it is.


Write me a song.