(This piece was written last summer. Title: "my day")
I don’t know if it’s the sound of multiple planes flying overhead or the plastic cat heads that bobble back and forth in the sun light, but I miss you. The birds still sing at 7pm, did you know that? Maybe it’s a summer thing. It’s cloudy, but bright, and all I hear are birds, and plastic cat heads, and a plane every five minutes.
I can’t get up, and I can’t function. I won’t sleep, and I won’t start my homework. All I do is think of you, and meander through your Facebook notes. They’re weird like you. The good kind of weird. I think of your favorite fruits, and imagine feeding them to you. Don’t ever ask me why, I don’t even know the answer myself. I enjoy our conversations.
I’m just a teenage dirtbag baby, like you. Wheetus makes my giggle. Will you dream of me too? I don’t know anything, I have no idea what I’m doing, or what I will do later. I suppose not knowing is fun, but it’s painful too. I just write my thoughts and I realize they are so scattered. I don’t know what’s going on in my head half the time. I feel like you could understand my mess, but then again maybe not. No one ever really knows someone do they?
This song is distracting me now, and I can no longer hear the birds. I think I miss the silence. I wonder what I’m missing like Noel, but now the song is over so I don’t have to linger on these thoughts. My bird died today. Well he wasn’t really mine, but I tried to save him. Poor guy fell out of his nest three times. You know that nest above my balcony? I climbed up and placed him back in like the internet told me, but no luck, he just kept falling. Maybe he was being pushed out. I tried really hard to save him. The third fall left him with a cut on his little featherless neck. I came home and he was stiff. Dead. The little guy was like a metaphor for my life. Someone will come home one day and find me dead too. I guess that’s life.
I tried writing on the train today, but all the Black Hawks fans were hovering over me. 77 years since a Stanley Cup win at home. Woo Freaking Hoo… they made my train ride slower than I would have liked. Annoying. Annoying. Annoying. Saw this kid I went to high school with on the train too, but I didn’t acknowledge his presence even when he sat next to me half way through the ride toward home. Never talked to him then, why start now? Nothing meaningful will come out of it. Plus I already have this idea in my head that I’m better than him, so that will never work.
There were no packages waiting when I got home. There was no one waiting for me either. I suppose I like my lonesomeness. I like the quiet, but I hate the thoughts that come with the silence. Too many thoughts, and too little strength to deal with them.
I like your writing. Today I asked you to write me a sonnet. How selfish right? I guess I just desire to be written about. I’m vain aren’t I? It makes me laugh dryly just to think about. I know lots of facts about sonnets too, but I know no one cares about the differences between a Petrarchan sonnet and a Shakespearean one. I care about the lamest things. I care about nothing at all. Lie. I lie to myself a lot. I care about many things. Trivial things. Trifles really. I care too much about too many things and too little people care about me. Lie. I’m sure lots of people care about me, but I have to act as though that’s not true because being sad and lonely is so my aesthetic.
I love being that girl. I feed off the souls of those who pity me. It’s absolutely fun. My foot has fallen asleep now. I look up at my push pin board and wonder why I have so many post-it notes. One says “write essay, write your essay,” in all caps. Funny how I ignored that and turned in that essay 4 days late. I couldn’t think for days. Another note says “Alone, I am,” I guess that one is still relevant. My favorite is from Cleo. It says “Kill yo self - Cleo” I love that girl. I don’t want to go into detail, but I’ve made her promises I’m not sure I can keep. Or want to keep. I’d have to give up on my own dreams to help her, and I said I would, but I don’t know anymore. I can’t say anything else about it now.
The birds are still singing their songs, the cars are still passing by, and I, well I sit here, waiting for something. Maybe you. Maybe nothing. I’m not sure what I wanted to write about today, but this is all that I could produce. Enjoy.
I don’t know if it’s the sound of multiple planes flying overhead or the plastic cat heads that bobble back and forth in the sun light, but I miss you. The birds still sing at 7pm, did you know that? Maybe it’s a summer thing. It’s cloudy, but bright, and all I hear are birds, and plastic cat heads, and a plane every five minutes.
I can’t get up, and I can’t function. I won’t sleep, and I won’t start my homework. All I do is think of you, and meander through your Facebook notes. They’re weird like you. The good kind of weird. I think of your favorite fruits, and imagine feeding them to you. Don’t ever ask me why, I don’t even know the answer myself. I enjoy our conversations.
I’m just a teenage dirtbag baby, like you. Wheetus makes my giggle. Will you dream of me too? I don’t know anything, I have no idea what I’m doing, or what I will do later. I suppose not knowing is fun, but it’s painful too. I just write my thoughts and I realize they are so scattered. I don’t know what’s going on in my head half the time. I feel like you could understand my mess, but then again maybe not. No one ever really knows someone do they?
This song is distracting me now, and I can no longer hear the birds. I think I miss the silence. I wonder what I’m missing like Noel, but now the song is over so I don’t have to linger on these thoughts. My bird died today. Well he wasn’t really mine, but I tried to save him. Poor guy fell out of his nest three times. You know that nest above my balcony? I climbed up and placed him back in like the internet told me, but no luck, he just kept falling. Maybe he was being pushed out. I tried really hard to save him. The third fall left him with a cut on his little featherless neck. I came home and he was stiff. Dead. The little guy was like a metaphor for my life. Someone will come home one day and find me dead too. I guess that’s life.
I tried writing on the train today, but all the Black Hawks fans were hovering over me. 77 years since a Stanley Cup win at home. Woo Freaking Hoo… they made my train ride slower than I would have liked. Annoying. Annoying. Annoying. Saw this kid I went to high school with on the train too, but I didn’t acknowledge his presence even when he sat next to me half way through the ride toward home. Never talked to him then, why start now? Nothing meaningful will come out of it. Plus I already have this idea in my head that I’m better than him, so that will never work.
There were no packages waiting when I got home. There was no one waiting for me either. I suppose I like my lonesomeness. I like the quiet, but I hate the thoughts that come with the silence. Too many thoughts, and too little strength to deal with them.
I like your writing. Today I asked you to write me a sonnet. How selfish right? I guess I just desire to be written about. I’m vain aren’t I? It makes me laugh dryly just to think about. I know lots of facts about sonnets too, but I know no one cares about the differences between a Petrarchan sonnet and a Shakespearean one. I care about the lamest things. I care about nothing at all. Lie. I lie to myself a lot. I care about many things. Trivial things. Trifles really. I care too much about too many things and too little people care about me. Lie. I’m sure lots of people care about me, but I have to act as though that’s not true because being sad and lonely is so my aesthetic.
I love being that girl. I feed off the souls of those who pity me. It’s absolutely fun. My foot has fallen asleep now. I look up at my push pin board and wonder why I have so many post-it notes. One says “write essay, write your essay,” in all caps. Funny how I ignored that and turned in that essay 4 days late. I couldn’t think for days. Another note says “Alone, I am,” I guess that one is still relevant. My favorite is from Cleo. It says “Kill yo self - Cleo” I love that girl. I don’t want to go into detail, but I’ve made her promises I’m not sure I can keep. Or want to keep. I’d have to give up on my own dreams to help her, and I said I would, but I don’t know anymore. I can’t say anything else about it now.
The birds are still singing their songs, the cars are still passing by, and I, well I sit here, waiting for something. Maybe you. Maybe nothing. I’m not sure what I wanted to write about today, but this is all that I could produce. Enjoy.
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