Tuesday, October 30, 2012

wishes (and other selfish, senseless things)

i wish that you weren't reading this. it's going to be bloody and sappy (and other disgusting, sticky things). but i know that you (and other things) are going to read it and obviously at least one of my fingers doesn't care.

i wish that i was that little bitty, blissfully stupid eight year old me riding my pink bike with bloodied knees and unruly snarled hair and koolaide stained smile speeding down the torn up alleyways of that dumpy little college town not looking both ways, not giving a shit if my legs were torn open or if a boy saw my disgusting hair, or that i was one pothole jolt away from puking my guts out from the red dye #40 which riddled that koolaide i had just recklessly downed heading home to my mother who would inevitably be smiling for me and cooking macaroni when i blew through the back door, so masterfully hiding her tears because there wasn't money for more than kraft and dad was working late giving his secretary an early holiday bonus in some sleazy trailer park two towns over so he didn't have to face my salty koolaide face (or other sad things).

i wish that four inches taller.

i wish that when it was midnight on a tuesday night and i said that i was going out to the bar by myself to drink that he would wish that i didn't want to go not because he wants to tell me not to but because he wishes that i would rather give him a kiss and crawl in our warm bed and slide his clothes off and not stop kissing him and not be thinking about drinking stale beers (and other things) next to strangers- but he knows that i'm bullshitting and that when i leave for the bar i'm actually just going to my car to turn on the heat and listen to NPR for ten minutes to see if he'll text me to give me a reason to come join him at home in our bed and of course he doesn't because he doesn't really care what the hell i do and even if he did he knows that i'd rather feel desired than drunk and anyway he's the one who will stumble in at 2am puking and reeking of smoke, not me, and so, actually, i really wish that he would rather crawl into bed with me than crawl to the bar but i'm not good at being aloof so i just cry about it and wish that i was all that he needed because when he's holding me, it's all that i need- so i wish that i didn't. cry or care.

i wish i didn't drive my grandma's old one- head-lighted mercury.

i wish that i could say this out loud.

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