February

i've got it, finally, mostly sure: subtle and pitiless, me, dried eyes almost like they felt that way all along. less and less of myself feeling, oh, again, and you! i see you, those birds have confused the natural progress of things, little chickens hatching in a shiver, february now, two days of holidays and i figured that magic would have it that today something clicked in, romantic and predetermined. i heard the error in the day, saw you, back to that: i know i'm the only one who has seen that your eyes and your lips match exactly, oh and your skin, and the color of your hair too, all of them sitting there in plaid. pretty, in th eopen window of a valentine hangover, the beautiful one though, woke up with fingers sleeping in warm absences, too perfect not to ruin.

waking up, sleepy sounds dull, drone, touch, wrongly kissed. mood dumbly undisguised, and charmed in plato-nic flattery. beautiful again, i made something you didn't see.

everything gonna change

i was just sitting here and thinking about a memory, vague and broad, of being sixteen. driving and feeling excited about each thing, little, i was myself. and then if someone wanted to hear what i knew, like we had never shared such simple things before, ideas that seemed big. sitting on the hoods of our cars, feeling so good at understanding our ideas.

so then, this thought, more specifically wondering how much harder it is to listen when we're not so enchanted anymore by our biggest realizations. i keep having them, finding them more difficult and less interesting to share. so then, this: what if i jst kept them to myself, like would they still be grand, true, and important? keeping me mouthes shut, now.

one month later, i am caffeinated, the day like yesterday, more or less. in that good way, the pollyanna police sort of outlook. it's just about all i can do, no, i can pretty much do each of the things i've planned for myself, each day. roundabout, i have said little to nothing.

but here: i know some secrets, about me and you, too, whoever yous are.

i love myslef

does just knowing how much extremer a life can be than mine make mines feel alright? i know what he meant, in that movie, talking about how life is a little more boring now, and did you breathe out at that too? so i can wait with shaky legs, coasting down a longer hill, windy cool and try to convince you that i'm a little wasted now on afew sips.

i resolve to let each one reminisce about a pathetic past time. i overhear, drunken recollections, so much more thrilled that way. me, sleepy, content enough for the boring ones. sweet little creatures, monkey boys, chickens.

just a minute now

looking back, i've noticed my dream has come true. not that kind of sprkly dream, no. but really, i thought of a scene, out ofknowwhere, and then months later look back on a month ago and it's the same one, but in my real memory. that other part.

my hand is quite leathery tonight, and aptly so, after trying to drag a social soul out of a treehouse with a television. i liked it up there, watching the leaves float yellow and brown, brushing against the romanticishesque ones of last year. quiet nights a year from then, kitten the bigger spoon. you were half dressed, and i was, and you too sleepy to remember hours in the lamp light. i woke up just in time, confessing uncontrollably.