Friday, March 23, 2012
So I opened a window and listened to the crickets sing, plot murders, and convert other night animals to Christianity.
They could have been doing both.
They could have been doing neither.
I laid there with my hand on my heart trying to remember in time with the rhythm of my body. It was highly ineffective but I did it anyway because somehow I was romanced by the image of it.
I stared off into the clear haze of my room and into a promise I made to myself to stay away from fried foods and immature lovers.
I broke both of them in one night. I deserved to be awake.
Instead of counting sheep I counted regrets. Instead of making lists of ‘to do tomorrow’ I made lists of ‘to kill’, ‘to kiss’, and ‘to push violently’.
You were on two of those lists.
I was on all three of them.
The window was letting in the sounds of ‘I’m sorry’, and ‘forgive me’, and ‘let’s fly to Vancouver for the weekend.’
I recognized this high-pitched, loaded idea as my own, and squashed it the way a mouse would squash a Wheat Thin.