pillow talk

so underrated.

if you're lucky, you'll find yourself in the dark sometimes.

it is nice to say hello once in a while.  why don't you visit more often?

this thread-count is like sandpaper.

with the help of my snarky friend Insomnia, i can't help flipping around on my too-big-bed, digging up the bones of relationships past.  why did i fail?  why wasn't i enough?  this mattress is seriously too empty.  i want to throw it out my window and sleep with my head on my desk forever.  instead of a refuge, it's become my cage.  i lie here, unable to crack my back the way i need to, hyperaware of the superfluous space of a queen mattress.  painfully aware of the reason i got one in the first place.

i'm chained to it.  a bed of glass.  cutting into me.  won't let me go.  it's too hot.  it's too cold.  when i reach out, there's nothing there.


i brought it up with a housemate, the other day in the living room.  how i don't feel safe here.  safe to be myself.  in this space, in this residence.  she listened with an empathetic voice but i could see her reflexively move away.  i went upstairs and planted myself on this goddamn torture chamber covered in fuzzy japanese blankets and watched the comedy central roast of james franco twice in a row until i passed out.

now i remember why i don't visit.

there is no beauty in sadness. only more of the same.

The sound of the setting sun on a road of gentle change.  The fading footsteps of your loved one.

I was driving south at sunset, leaving the East Bay with its memories of a tormented young adult squandering the promise of the world laid before her.  The sky was ablaze in magenta and coral light, spilled shamelessly across the deepening blue.

It was beauty, and I was leaving, and it felt so familiar.  The familiarity was what broke my heart.  I was always a shy little coyote, always slinking away with my tail tucked from the most brilliant moments, romances, friendships, opportunities, into the dark and the cold.  It was what I deserved, wretched thing I was.  The twilight horizon on the road ahead of me suddenly felt too heavy to bear.  I wanted to jump out of the car, and leap into those intense clouds of color behind me.  I was overwhelmed with grief.  It felt like getting run over by an 18-wheeler would be worth being in that light for a mere split second.

"There she was," passerby would think to themselves, as they drove past my road-kill-carcass on the median the next day.  "At least she's out of her misery."