I hate tolstoy and bukowski and movie caps with yellow subtitles, like there is a circle jerk in a foreign movie theater, like we are all holding hands and watching life projected on a black screen, in a third language. I don’t believe in anything that doesn’t originate in the back of the throat and vibrates through every bone in your body until you are blind, deaf, mute, and can’t remember your own name. sadness is magnified in an airport. the middle seat is purgatory. the luggage is, still, only luggage, except you’re terrified of losing it and you don’t even know why. i wish strangers on airplanes made silent agreements to take each other’s luggage off the carousel. surely, i can’t be the only one that doesn’t care all that much about the journey. sometimes I kept my eyes open when I kissed you. i had my reasons. I am forgetting how much an ounce of regret weighs.
Posted on: Sun, 22 Sep 2013 23:20:55 +0000
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