A Collection of Spectacles


I’m sitting outside, chain smoking. I spend the rest of the night following him around, asking him questions. He peaks my interest for a while but, like most people, he doesn’t hold it for very long. We’re on the floor in a room and he keeps telling me that I move too fast. I can’t do anything any other way. Then, my friend opens the door and she asks us what are we doing. I don’t have an answer. I don’t sleep. My imagination carries me, takes me away to distant places. We are sitting in a smoke filled bathroom (for which I am bound to get in trouble for) and I am about to leave when I am kissed. I react hesitantly. Then, a whispered why not is heard. Whether it came from inside or whether it was spoken into my ear I can’t remember. Either way, I can’t think of a good excuse, a good reason why I shouldn’t, so I go along with it, which is something that I do far too often. I dream a vibrant dream: Three sets of three balloons fill my room and I have to push them all out the window. My imagination carries me, takes me away. We’re standing in the kitchen. I’m cooking. I’m trying to get relationship advice, but I guess that the way in which I’m going about it is sending out weird signals. He says they’re all like [   ]. Every last one. By “they” he means his friends. Now, I’m lying in his lap and speaking incoherently, traveling every inch on the emotional spectrum in the span of a few seconds, because alcohol makes me honest. I am indecisive. I keep saying, you’re too nice, and I explain that I need to be treated like shit. It’s my primitive form of entertainment. It keeps me interested. I drink more, and I am able to have thoughtless sleep. My imagination carries me.

It’s all a jumbled mess. It’s all jumbled and mixed up.

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