Written with love + care by Drew Henry
1
I saw the slit in her dress & the ones covering her small, fragile arm & wrist. She’s dainty, but maybe I shouldn’t call her fragile
— just irrevocably numb to all of the pain she’s been through, yet still always finding ways to compose simple, kind words to others & gesture an unswerving smile with the sweetest, cutest dimples you might have ever seen…
tracing patterns in the sky, patterns in your hand, auras around your being & determining the answers to all of your questions through a simple tarot reading & small talk around a lightly burning & roasting fireplace… gazing underneath infinite starlight gleaming in her eyes.
Both warm & cold, she is the light bright & cold stone at every angle of your subtle & gentle being.
2
I see a girl… I lean over to tie my shoes. I scruff my hair up & down & pull up my pants. I’m trying to pull myself together a tiny bit. I don’t want to look empty handed when a girl that cute walks by… a glance
— I pull out a smoke… if only a bit of gum (anything to distract myself in it all). I notice her & she notices me… yeah, she smiles inwardly, combing her hair gently down, hands brushing up. I efficiently move from here to there.
She asks for a lighter, noting the exchange — how quickly I can flip it in her direction. Maybe she wants to know if I’m cool… like cool enough to pimp out the little things.
If I can do that, I can keep up with her: the magnitude of her soft weight on me, the idea of her head nuzzled into mine, the thought of my hand around her… She’s wearing a sweater — maybe cashmere… she’s wearing a bracelet & doc martens.
Thank God I wore my beanie & those high top vans… always classic — good to be classic & endearingly edgy. She’s cute in a way where she could easily pass as both a local girl & a city girl.
I can’t really impress her, I guess… she can see right through the flex of it all. But it’s always nice to try, so I stealthily reach into my pocket & pull out & hand her the lighter — noticeably baby blue. She grabs it, softly brushing against me.
Damn, she lights a cigarette in a way that’s more attractive than one may think — right to the point: the flick of her thin wrist, the smooth drag & pull & crisp smoke trail — a thin cloud that only girls can really blow. She hands me back the lighter.
Both of our hands linger on one another for a brief moment. She thanks me & kisses me so softly & sweetly on the cheek… before she fades out into the evening. I never even ever think to get this girl’s number in the quick & cute little string of events.
I guess she must have liked the way I was cool with the little spark of the lighter & initial spark with her, too. She also probably liked the way my hair fell that day & the high tops & beanie & whatever else.
The kiss was so unexpectedly nice. Sometimes it’s best not to see where the whole thing goes. That would be such a drag, right?
I bet… I take two mightily steady smoke pulls before I ash out my last cigarette.
It was a good night so I head on home, remembering that girl in the all white cashmere sweater with the doc martens & the bracelet.
It was a good night so I head on home.
3
She walks, heavy boots clad on her heels, treading on asphalt pavement.
She takes a breather from her casual morning stroll & sits on steps outside of a cathedral… her toes pointed inwards, her hoodie hiding her cloudy & misty eyes & goosebumps forming on her skin as a result of catharsis from the music she’d been listening to.
She leans into her praying hands & cries deep, melancholic tears — pondering past romantic flings & whether she should hit up a priest at this point & confess her little faults — barely even considered sins to degenerates in a nearby alley. These faults weighed on her so heavily.
Even though she was far from a sinner, she was far from a saint too, cheating & falling into old vices & harder drugs & lustful & risky behavior.
Her life was relatively uneventful, though, at the end of the day — writing sonnets in her loft she thought Shakespeare would be proud of… tossing every single one of them aside & sipping on something & switching her attention to her old stack of CDs & her little vintage stereo.
She found peace in Joy Division — a band that always cured her torment, alleviating & relieving a constantly lingering headache… not knowing what to do with her current mixed state — both manic & depressed… even half delusional & only finding happiness within the sadness.
She wanted to feel acceptance, even if that meant a smile from a cute local barista boy. So she made efforts at getting an iced coffee at the local café to feel kind of like a semi-decent citizen.
She made her way over to the local café. Upon getting up from the cathedral steps (she really was thinking of talking to a priest…) — wiping away the downtrodden tears off of her cheeks — she meanders over to the coffee shop.
Predictably, an attractive barista smiles her way & hands her the iced coffee she paid for. She felt she deserved half as much. She bought a book of old poetry at the local bookstore & headed back to the cathedral again.
She stepped into the confessional with the priest — purposely missing both of her appointments at the gynecologist’s & her therapist’s. She felt cleansing her sins would do her better, overall… at least her soul.
Everything else was fine… she just felt an overwhelming guilt or shame or whatever nagged incessantly at her, no matter how many times she went to checkups & therapy.
She looked at the crucifix on the wall… Jesus dying on the cross — she thinks about how The Heavenly Father died & contentedly sits in the Heavenly Kingdom, yet still makes time to listen & forgive her & offer her a sense of closure to past slip-ups.
‘I guess life’s not that bad,’ she thought, saying 10 Hail Marys & 3 Our Fathers — pretty much a Rosary’s worth of prayer as her penance — after the act of contrition on her way out of the stainless-glass-adorned cathedral.
Now sitting cozily in her loft, she read the old poetry book she bought… crying tears of joy this time, thanking the Lord for forgiving her sins & blessing another day of her existence.
‘We all get 365 days each year… to make the most of it all’, she thought. Far from a sinner, far from a saint, but still uniquely angelic…
‘I guess life’s not that bad’, she thought & smiled.
4
Metaphorically, cement was her worldly natural element of choice, visually at least
— charred, slowly corroding yet unwavering & once malleable & soft texture… as well as the instinctual airy breeze — the pure & cold & permanent paired with the invisible: a juxtaposing contrast between the two.
Her cigarettes & coffee & tea were her substances of choice — tobacco & caffeine: her usual barely contemplated daily tendencies… surely addictive & inescapable habits.
Any kind of cheap, leveling stimulant awakened mindfulness in her senses via vice-infused routines pushing along the cultivation of outer-worldly thought & meditative acceptance of the people in her life & place she’s at & everything spinning madly on around her.
She sips & smokes & slows down. She blankly moves about, forlorn, removing her little kettle from heat in her tiny kitchen, preparing to steep the green tea she had originally bought that same winter while visiting Japan, hoping to feel less apathetic & casually despondent in drastic perpetual lag… as she so often had for days at a time.
She makes it a point to read something anytime she sips her steeped tea — poetry deep within her core thoughts… a poetic rhythm to the way she moved.
She was refreshingly sober & grounded in reality
— one with the cement & breeze & unshifting asphalt pavement, set in stone & unchanging despite being elementally struck by the breeze & tread of rubber tires & beat-up converse & vans & all of that. She loved how pavement always stayed the same. She loved the band, Pavement, too.
She spoke & read bilingually & could read & use sign language, too. She had all sorts of superfluous skills. Either heroic or villainous, she possessed both qualities, rolling up & rolling through any type of way
— floating by, striking a match & striking up a conversation, just passing through, coexisting & doing pretty much anything to confirm her existence, which had a way of being about both comfort & dismay.
She never knew how to feel about this little life, looking down at the street below her old heavy & worn out boots… kisses in the wind a feathery feel stimulating her otherwise overly desensitized skin, star shopping & shoe gazing, hurt & recovered all at once, empty & whole all at once, fleeting & permanent all at once, flawed & perfect all at once.
She duly notes American soils receding — the real estate just the cement pavement for Fords & Harleys & buses & subways & this whip & that Beamer & this taxi & that cop car & this Benz & that Jeep & this skater boy & that girl strolling by — so they can cruise through in every direction on hard asphalt.
Every now & then, she escapes the city a few times each year to explore nature & dwell on the existentialist truths of the cosmic universe in some remote & expansive solitude.
Yet she always returns to city streets & her humble abode & to her garden & to the friendly tiny kitten consistently purring at her dusty & bellowing doorstep.
She knits on her front porch, hazily focused — like a preoccupied mother — on the kitty making her way back to the steps… yet she felt alone, even on crowded streets.
Sadly, maybe all she wanted — at least subconsciously — was the bliss of a timely peaceful death… we all moved towards its fate anyways — waiting for the inevitable an overbearing burden… her only occasional suicidal thought, however, was dying like Chet Baker
— falling out of a window —
or like Elliot Smith — jumping off of the roof of a building… simple and quick — the sudden crash, falling swiftly within breezy air onto the cement ground below.
But the fleeting thoughts always found ways of passing. She was, without a doubt, an abstinent-minded creature
— devout in doing little & talking minimally & devoted to simply being aware & alive & not worrying too much about guys & all of that on a moment to moment basis.
She dreamt of the day she would be embraced by the afterlife she craved, but never feverishly indulged too hastily finding out & dying, if only unexpectedly, still semi-content & grateful existing…
…yet daydreaming frequently of the day when her bodily being transcends eventually into a ghostly form
— life like the shifting dissipation of cement into rubble into nothing but scraps in thin air… to feel one with sobering cement:
the way the breeze must feel as it collides against its cement counterpart, balancing opposites
— a yin yang alchemist of the windy elements & bare trodden ground… to some, obviously a crush eternal at one with the great nothingness. She was a ghost on Earth already… at least in her eyes, conceptually, barely reflecting on her looks in the mirror
— the heroine spoken of so vividly in feminist literature, appearing like an eclipse — only visible for mere moments… her thin figure & dress barely brushing against mid thigh with soft fabric flowing; hair strewn about in whatever way it fell that morning.
Quite naturally, she exuded an innately gentle disposition & the softest & shyest of temperaments.
All she was in this small town was a ghost
— at least in her conceived imagination —
avoiding the lustful glances of the men passing her… moving humbly from place to place, keeping on her mind little phrases to get her through tasks & chores & sojourning within an imaginary world somewhere out of this world, far from the one she actually occupied, hesitantly accepting her present world.
She was recognized in amity by many. Some locals — even some tourists — knew of her since forever ago. She remained constantly disillusioned, focused on highs only meditatively accessible to those who sought after them.
A yogi of sorts, attractive as any & all, yet still she loathed her Earthly form… a beautiful exterior overshadowing what lies on the interior… if only someone could really notice her true & genuinely angelic soul & tend to the damaged aspects of her heartbreaking cuts & wounds.
She longingly wished for more.
Still, she always appreciated what came her way, unavoidably craving the day she passed on, keeping to her blissful dream state
— consumed with escapist pleasures, smoking her cigarettes & drinking her coffee & sipping tea & partaking in any activity that enhanced clarity & kept her at peace with the bare & raw concept of living, constantly adjusting to the fickle whims of everything seemingly so annoyingly needy & insufferably intolerable in some ways.
She didn’t mind existence too much at the end of the day, though, because she simply meditated singularly on the connection between all beings & a much more expansive mentality
— a brighter fundamental wave length, destined for far more than just human fallibility & corruption, which she absolutely avoids… striving to maintain a ghostly aura & chill & airy presence… Because to her, ghosts were perfect —
so long as they refrained from haunting — residing in the Heavens, out of Purgatory, free of pretense & attachment & bodily earthly confines & useless nuisance of society — each one a type of captivity just tarnishing the original unblemished state of everything in this realm.
She idealized little ritualistic behaviors
— the idea of doing nothing by doing something… a sip & smoke & drawing & notes on paper & tarot readings & attention to detail & a book about anything.
She dwelt in solitude, disengaged from social gatherings & ignoring the game — both of dating & popularity — on a daily basis (everyone superficially only seemingly caring appearances & first & last impressions).
She knew other girls envied her good looks & guys coveted her & people always talked about everyone & everything.
News traveled fast in a small town… she ignored the gossip.
She could care less about the guys hitting on her & the girls hating on her.
She skirted off out of view in her mini skirt up her steps to throw on a show, cozily snuggled into her squish-mallow in her hoodie under a knit blanket.
She always found ways of escaping the grind of daily existence… wanting to feel like a ghost — her soul waiting to free itself from its mediocre cage.
One day she’d be free, an inhabitant of a majestic realm, where she has already envisioned herself.
She could manifest anything… she would manifest a new kind of reality.
5
We all need some divine feminine energy… so too, comfort within our own solitude.
I sit here: a vibe to be in my own space — cozy, wearing a hoodie & denim jeans… peaceful essence in a comfortable spot, lost in thought with a good book in hand.
I’ll look up from my frequent readings, sitting in relatively sedated bliss, not too worried about time passing.
I’ll pull out a cigarette, appreciative of the back & forth motion…. this waltz, this dance. More often than not, it’s sweet enough.
Slow dance somewhere… together so long, the old man & woman still looked as if they were on their first date — endlessly in love, still cutely enticed.
Together so long, they mesh; little tension quickly dissipates. Original first date feelings set up their whole, little rhythm — the small chit chat, the little nuances, the jokes, habits, ways to loosen up, the dinner parties & breakfast mimosas, his friends & her friends.
We’re used to it… they’re used to it. He moves in his own way
— nonchalant, yet caring in nature. She moves in her own way — soft in touch & warm in heart.
I’m just waiting now to find the right girl
— to vibe with, slow dance with… our favorite song on the speakers, her head on my shoulder, a flutter of infinite nature… she pulls me closely in
— light step, this way and that… here & there, in tune, cute little smirk, a heartfelt little sway; soft kiss on my cheek, soft kiss on her neck… we all just want the one person who makes us feel so at ease deep within; so cute:
her little energy, ways she goes about things… she tells me to take her hand:
‘just vibe to it all’, she reminds me…
…the little rhythms of all of this — someone I could ride with… so, in a way so cute, I had hesitantly asked her if she wants to dance:
a shy glance between us two, a flit of movement, tussled hair, nervous hands, a glow about her eyes…
…feelings, looking away — a bit shyly — then her eyes link up.
I meet hers… look away a single moment (hopeful she feels it too… she really does, too).
She closely moves into the hoodie I wear. Saying anything at all felt unnecessary.
The song played… nothing left to do, but just so sweetly sway to the music with our arms around one another.
She soothed my being — delicate dispositions felt. We liked the song a lot.
She was so cute… I looked alright enough. She had a warmth to her & so often, my heart had felt cold… but now she was right there — soothing sweet relief slow dance.
The song played on… we never drifted apart — at least too much.
A few hours passed… I sat outside on the steps & lit up a smoke.
She came outside… sat right up against me, perched up on the step, as well.
She asked me for a smoke…
“I didn’t know you smoke…”
“I didn’t know you did either…”
“Seems like I have to…”
“Yeah, me too…”
“So glad you’re here, though…”
“Yeah, it’s really cool we met…”
“Damn, yeah, it really is…”
We smoked in silence… stars rested glowing high above, as we rested alongside of each other.
It was the perfect night, the beginning of something incredibly cute
— thanks to a slow dance, a smoke sesh… someone to smoke with… someone to ride with… someone to vibe with —
‘finally’, I thought, finally… but here, I sit, in a hoodie & denim jeans
— on my own in a cozy little spot… any place that felt like home —
writing this, about to get some coffee & smoke a cigarette. I guess we’ll have to see if I’ll ever find this girl to vibe with
— our favorite song on the speakers.
Here I am. There she is.
It’s all alright… one of these days, in time.
6
Slut cut gut, flirting that hurts with a girl in a mini skirt, white girl tatted in the matte black car with the pale body & painted black nail polish all to my demolish…
…she worked at & pulled down at her dress that kept rising at the thigh, got a guy high then carved a wound deep inside & dragged his heart low against the pavement, her dancing to hip hop & punk in her old worn & torn beat up converse platforms & her dope ride she picked you up in, her fishnets & little piercings & rings on her hand…
…wildly playfully teasing you, making you feel like a real cool guy again, then weak in the knees, then completely vulnerable to every type of attraction to her… devil & angel on the shoulder, little bumps & hip stirs & fluttered core & playful wrists…
…everything on the low, grinding out on the dance floor, keeping the whole thing low key, truth seeming fiction, fiction seeming true, possessions of soul & body… maybe she practiced some devilish magic or witchcraft…
… the fact that she loved everyone, the nice guys who were naive & sweet, as well as the ones who treated her in all sorts of other ways, sometimes kind of badly…
…like she had a genuinely cute & sensitive & empathetic way of being; she just wanted to make sure you were okay & liked all of the attention & affectionate glances she received, but love never seemed like it was enough…
…she wanted a deep level of emotional & personal & vulnerable intimacy from all of the types she found comfort in or felt longing for… she wanted to know what little desires & secrets & wisdom others held deep within.
No matter who you were, she found a way to tap into your own internal cravings… she broke my heart every time she walked up & down the block.
That’s just the way she was.
She was a heartbreaker.
7
Wearing black boots & a little white dress
— with a cardigan draped over —
this girl Adrianna hits a line in the bathroom stall & heads back to the bar stool, asking the cute bartender she had known for years & years for a cool bottle of bud light & a whiskey on ice
(‘for my boyfriend,’ Adrianna said, laughing at her mini stupid joke & draining the three-shots-worth-of-whiskey glass in one go at it & taking a steady pull from the chilled bottle of bud light as chaser).
She could drink with the best of them & had just broken up with the boy she had been dating for a few months.
He couldn’t handle the side of her that was always up in his business & verging on a little excessively obsessed with him… the less they cared, the harder she started to fall in love.
Sometimes Adrianna seemed fake on the surface… only because she was going along with everything, not really trying to be her genuine authentic self with people who were always just spewing nonsense bullshit & didn’t really care about her.
So Adrianna hung with her close friends mostly, but oftentimes found herself in larger crowds of people, not necessarily a social butterfly in the slightest
— although the ones who didn’t know her true introverted nature would beg to differ —
but she’d still engage in conversation with other locals & jokingly laugh with guys who were funny & play along with bitchy girls as if she could wholeheartedly relate with what they were going through & who they were hooking up with & their little chatter about what’s going on in town & could shoot darts & shoot pool like nobody’s business.
She’d drink iced coffee with her friends in the morning, sleepily so dazed & nonchalantly & mindlessly scroll through her phone & listen to music on car rides with the volume all the way up on her way back home, throwing on something cozy or dressing her best to go to work on the weekdays.
She still attended a cute little Christian church every Sunday
— missing her dad so much, who passed away when she was about 21.
Adrianna’s dad always made sure she went to church with him.
Adrianna utterly despised going to church at the time, whenever she had to get ready for it, but seeing all of the people all dressed up & feeling pretty cute all dressed up herself & listening to little words of wisdom & gracefully accepting God into her life & spending quality time with her dad doing any type of thing just to be around him & grabbing a coffee & something from the bakery on those mornings on their way home from Church… all always ended up making the day more pleasant & to this day all of the memories & time she spent with her dad still carry a vast amount of nostalgia & meaningful place in her heart.
Her dad was everything to her. Adrianna lived her life in a way she thought would honor him, devoting her life to listening to that angelic voice in the back of her head & forefront of her heart that always led her in the right direction.
She felt like her little angelically insightful gut feelings were little friendly reminders from her dad in Heaven… still always guiding her towards the light in the universe
— even though she had equal amounts of a wildly devilish side (hitting lines in bathroom stalls & shooting whiskey like she shot pool) & still also a subtly enlightened angelic side.
Adrianna’s dad was always there to hold her hand on the first day she had kindergarten & gave her a hug & kiss on the forehead as he always did
— kind of a little embarrassing at the time, but so incredibly gentle & sweet now — when she graduated from high school.
Adrianna’s dad bought her the first phone she ever owned back when they first came out with the BlackBerry in the earlier 2000s & he surprised Adrianna with her first car — a cute vintage Volvo — on her sweet 16th that her friends always were stoked to be passengers in.
Adrianna never let anyone drive it, not even one of her cooler boyfriends… definitely not her boyfriends… she couldn’t trust them to begin with
— the way they always sped through town & revved up on freeways with an almost kind of loosely reckless abandon.
How could she expect her boy to take care of the car her dad had so thoughtfully gifted her?
So she’d switch off back & forth days they’d pick her up in their car & days she’d pick them up in hers.
The only time she ever would relent to letting one of the girls she was friends with drive
— the ones she knew on a deeper level & trusted with her life —
occurred when something was out of her hands… for instance, when it was high school prom & she got a little too drunk
— drunk enough to blow at least a .08… plus she was only 18 at the time —
so Adrianna ended up asking this friend of hers named Sophie, who she had known since she joined the public school system in 6th grade, if she could drive her home really quick just around the block & down the street a few miles.
Sophie said she didn’t mind at all, but that they’d have to take her Subaru & leave the old Volvo at the party… after all, if she took her home in the Volvo, Sophie would regrettably have to drive herself back to the party & the car would still be gone in the morning & she’d much rather take her car as she definitely wasn’t going to drop her off & then make the long trek to walk all of the way back to the party. Adrianna didn’t care at all… so long as she made it safely & cozily up to her room & hopefully not throw up in the car.
She badly wanted to take a quick shower & change into her comfiest clothing & just get away from the crowd… as she had a good feeling the party would get rolled.
She promised herself she would do her best to just ignore the fact that this one cute guy at her high school was asking her why she was leaving so early & to arrive home before it was eventually curfew… I mean, both her parents extended curfew & allowed for a little leniency, especially considering it was prom night, but it was already 12:30 & her parents told her to make sure to get home by 1:00 A.M.
They told her she definitely couldn’t spend the night at the nice crib of the girl who was throwing the party, as they didn’t want her messing around with one of the boys & hooking up & all of that.
They told her she could drink, but after all, as someone who always attended church every Sunday without fail, her dad was highly against her fooling around at such a young age.
He wasn’t necessarily against the idea of premarital sex, but just preferred to not test the combo of her & some high school boy… hoping with all of his heart she would wait until college.
Adrianna sometimes had an attitude like she didn’t care & liked to get involved with a specific kind of scene & party at a younger age.
But one thing she never did was disrespect her father — she never wanted to let him down & held him in really high regard & listened to all of his advice & insight over the years & really loved him.
Adrianna missed him incredibly & now she had her mom to deal with.
Her mom wasn’t too much of any typical kind of inconvenience, she was just kind of out of the picture, a little stuck in her ways & kind of always never cared that much about even having a relationship with Adrianna, seemingly missing her husband who was gone too soon more than she missed her own daughter who was still right there a phone call a way… but the two of them didn’t have much to talk about anyways as her mom barely ever even listened to anything she told her, more focused on making it to the bottle of vodka then paying any attention to Adrianna.
I guess the post traumatized part of Adrianna got the drinking & coke hitting, wildly devilish & often dismissive side from her mom & the authentic & genuinely kind & angelically warm church going, pool shooting & dart playing side from her dad.
Sometimes she wish she never left her mom’s womb & that she didn’t have to ever see the day she would attend her dad’s funeral as they lay him in the casket with her still placing flowers on his tombstone… asking God why she had to take the best man & friend she ever knew away from her.
So Adrianna lived without any kind of fear of dying, often fucking around & sadly getting involved with another guy who didn’t care about her the same way her dad did…
…doing drugs & chasing whiskey with beer & not really giving a casual fuck about much of anything, besides making it to church on Sundays, making it through another day without her dad & somehow finding a little spark & light in all of the darkness in this often cold world, finding ways to vibe & socialize & cool off & somehow create new memories filled with everything from tearful moments & dejectedly crushing heartbreak to times that felt like ecstasy & pure relief to the melodramatic socializing & overcast beach days to calmly boring coffee shop trips & faded bar nights & house parties to tarot readings around a coffee table…
…then without fail, always back to her cute & quaint little church on Sunday, less for salvation & more to spend time with her dad…
…who she hoped to see one day in the next life or afterlife or Heaven or wherever she ended up at the end of this whole thing.
Forever up to something, always trying to vibe with the funny sad of it all, whipping up plans to go to the bar & entertain the bad girl side that wants to party or sleepily craving a mellow day, just content lounging all day listening to music & checking socials & watching some show on TV… reading books & sipping mimosas & drawing little cute pieces of art in her mini sketchbooks.
Nothing she did could take away the void she felt
— at times feeling so absent of feeling anything —
after losing her dad, but she lived her life to the fullest & was always his favorite little angelic girl no matter what she did… Adrianna never wanted to let him down, but she could never let him down
— he would be there always… always protecting her from now until infinity —
forever & always… in this lifetime & the next… whether Heaven or the Afterlife or wherever.
She’d always be his girl.
8
Her vibe was too essential & perfect. I’d see her & feel struck down in the best way possible.
I would mention something to her & smile loosely, just kind of hoping to leave some kind of impression
— anything at all… anything she did felt spot on.
I felt like I could only grasp at her ultimate raw delicate touch & dynamic, intrinsic & intriguing fundamental beauty.
I felt like there was one last ticket I needed to attain… maybe a taxi I had to catch. It almost felt as if the universe was whispering, “better hang on tight kid.”
She was light glistening on snowy peaks, soft wind gently drifting down my spine. Her presence loosened up my own & woah, quickly lightened my stride.
But there existed, so too, a minute hesitant urgency towards the ways in which I approached her at times.
The feeling felt pressing. Of course, it wasn’t. I just wanted to enjoy little moments happening.
A part of me wished she could always pass me by. There was a relaxing & also rapid, yet fluttering movement & loosely kinetic tension in all of it.
I’d pass her way. I can’t say I wouldn’t have been opposed to an occasional devious stare thrown in my direction.
She may have been thinking the same. All I can say is that there was an addictive quality to the glance. I looked over at her as she walked ahead.
She was a little busy with some task. She often happened to be playing with her hair.
Of course, I was always impulsively chain smoking out on the deck. I guess all that mattered was that she was never too far away.
Well… yeah, 80% of cigarettes picked me up when she was busy & inexplicably — too inevitably — went away… she’d disappear to attend to more pressing, urgent matters & demands & wasn’t — well… really, couldn’t be — around.
But she was always around, no matter what ‘at least… if only’ in spirit & so was my nicotine, addictive to the senses.
The other 20% either felt like a romantic type of ecstasy or underwhelming bitter substance. Her vibe brightened my day.
I yearned to be amidst her company & aura… that specific peak synergistic vibrance I felt, her ultimate strength, sparkle & glow.
I was usually cozy in a hoodie & beanie. She had a similar outfit taste early in cold, sharp morning air & late at night.
You could always tell when she was still kind of sluggish, just waking up. She’d be so sleepy & not really at all in the mood.
Maybe she’d be in her bag or feelings, just like all of us… some days. She looked the same as she always did though.
Too incredibly cute. Too incredible & cute.
She could be really hot… if she felt so inclined. She was absolutely one of the most pleasing sights my eyes had ever seen.
I’d see her & feel mellow, at ease… a sedative wave coming over, yet slight edginess.
The universe really was right — “better hang on tight kid.” That’s all I could do.
Although I didn’t necessarily need to hold her, I wanted to… badly.
Like cigarettes, girls come & go.
These little moments — the fading spark & connection — was inevitably fleeting… at least for all I knew.
I’d always, forever feel some type of way about her.
Please don’t worry universe, I’ll always hang on tight.
‘Dear Mother Nature…’
9
Damn, she was the finest girl around.
The masochism in me wanted her to slap me & slam the door in my face, as I watch her out the window walking back out on the street looking as hot as ever in a hoodie… watching her ass beneath the mini skirt.
Nobody said a girl couldn’t wear a hoodie over a mini skirt. Girls always made me feel like gold & dirt: gold rush & dirt pit… back to this bitch, back in this bitch — back in my bag about a bitch.
Let me tell you one thing: life is stupid… so don’t waste it on women.
Just use it for knowledge & the music of the whole tragic thing.
Romanticize the funny tragic parts…
10
You had me with your playful smile — the way I thought you actually hated me.
You talked to me quickly for hours on end. I couldn’t stand it… I loved it all endlessly
— every minute in your presence pure all out adrenaline coursing, flowing in my veins… addictive to hang amongst one another.
You said you had nothing to take care of & that you could put a few things off to spend a whole day running around as little jokers.
We basically were the ones scoffed at… but we didn’t care, so long as we held each other tight, as warm as a night light, basically intertwined with one another
— star struck… you couldn’t have one without the other… incredibly dynamic.
But then one day you didn’t show up. Nobody ever said what happened to you.
It killed me, not knowing about it all — how something came up so you left town. You were my little soft eyed angelic girl.
Now you were 1,400 miles away… too far. Nothing felt the same or shined as bright.
Sure, this whole poem is a piece of fiction. But I always just assume my better half lives 1,400 miles away, all too caught up, not knowing I exist… the two of us unaware of the potentially innate gravitational pull.
Somewhere my other half resides… yeah, one day our paths will suddenly collide.
Maybe I’ll run into her as I lazily turn… having just bought iced coffee at a café.
She’ll look me in the eyes & I’ll know… I’ll just know it’s her with every ounce of my perceptive being and bright eyed soul.
˚☽˚.⋆ 
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