I wish I legitimately knew the things I know so I could call you out on being a hypocrite, but really you’re not worth my time. So I’ll just complain to my Tumblr instead.
Confession:
I have unrealistic expectations of how aware and sensitive people are to social justice issues because of how much time I spend on Tumblr.
i remember the dead end and the fed ex truck and when the war came.
you asked and i laughed and you won.
i left scars on the plastic and you left them on me.
the suburban road and the explosions and failing fighting sleep.
counting minutes buying time.
we could never beat the clock or ourselves.
the parking lot and the book that bore my uncertain soul.
i cleaned my window a year later.
the words have gone like the memory of your skin.
the road outside the house and that ephemeral sense of knowing.
belonging and the future conquering the past.
vignettes descending into images.
seeing all of town and assuring you i had no reservation.
the college and the storm. the party and the door open.
the gravel by the park and pursuing headlights.
something universal in the moisture on windows.
a finger paintbrush on glass canvas.
handprints, hearts, and lyrics.
heat and cold and skin.
