Sunday, 3 April 2011

Paperbag Writer. Day Three

I wake up with a light pain in my neck most likely due to how I slept trying to forget about the wires digging holes into my veins, sleep makes you forget who the fuck you are and you wake up innocent until the world falls upon you and the needle of reality gets stuck into your mouth, blood building your tongue and you speak.

I always imagined an irresistible reaction to pull out the cords and stand up destroying everything, shouting or in my case coughing but nothing happened. I just didn’t want to stare at them and that was about it.

Maybe at that moment of purity, I had wanted to kill myself, but not when my body had been torn, just because fate had sent it.

I never knew why was my body torn, but there was no suicide attempt in the papers neither in my mind.

My gran had attempted it, causing it to fall as a shadow upon my mind as a kid.

I would lie saying that I didn’t want to see her as I heard familiar footsteps with more familiar click clacks up to the point that I had a theory that she chose her footwear with that matching sound. I wonder if I could press my head against the ground, when she chose her footwear, I remember trailing along just to get pulled for one kiss, which was broken, my tongue too rough as the stale relation.

Because near death or not you find love barging into your life or rather what is left of it. It doesn't matter who is dying, you were whole just for once, so it aches. I could feel her lean closer as I held my eyes shut, wondering if she’d press her palm against my forehead, peck my cheek or capture my lips, but nothing happens and I open my eyes to see a wary smile.

She ruffles a hand in her dyed black hair with a dark blue steak matching her eyes. She asks how I’m I and I give out a shrug as an answer.

My ex girlfriend crosses her legs in a chair opposite of me, playing with the necklaces around her neck crushing the beads together making a violent breaking sound as I stare at her, as she crushes silence and throws it out of the window, as I see her heading up to it and throw the purple thing out into the traffic, her lips red.

I need to distract myself, before I die, just like everyone else does.

I give out a smile causing her to exhale and press her head against the wall. I watch her, wondering what or who her current boyfriend was.

I lost count how long ago was it, but then we met a party, dated a while, drifted apart, got back together as friends as she’d gossip about people we knew. I usually sat listening wondering how come I liked her more than my current girlfriends. I drank several gulps in a row then, realizing that I was used to see her gossip, in higher heels, mismatched socks and weird clothes. Up to the point that admitting to myself that I loved her was easy to exclaim, because sometimes you just don't find anyone better.

But then I never loved her more than a friend as I’d listen to her, drinking coffee or tea at the cafĂ© we’d meet as she’d ask me about my current hobbies, resting her head on her hands, her head sideways dark blue eyes focused at my dazing out state as I’d tell her.

My parents thought I dated her and still do, inviting her over sometimes or introducing her as my girlfriend. There's no need to make yourself a pimp, just because everyone is so worthless and the society makes people a good thing, when they listen to nothing and believe in nothing. She never minded using the same trick knowing that I did the same. The society makes singles look as bad, because a mirror is just for looking at how you look post sex.

In the end it was a lover into good, well best girlfriend or whatever. In the end she sat there trying to cope with the wires and my closed eyes. I stretched my hand out for the sketchbook, biting on the tip of my pen looking at her dazed state.

She took it instead, so I stared at her.

She kissed me.

I kissed her back.

Maybe she'd get the misfortune.

When you get it, you just want to get it off, the vanity is your ringtone.

They won’t give me coke. Not the drug, you get what I mean.

She laughed.

How are you? Hey, at least you don’t get your blood flooded by-

I tilted my head towards the liquid bottle, but got irritated as I tried to memorize the letters forming some smart word. I suck at biology and the bottle just reminded me.

Whatever the hell that is. I hope it brings life under the christmas tree.

“I’m good.” She smiled taking the steaks from her eyes, resting her head on one arms beginning to gossip as if I could still talk and that was our daily meeting.

Day Four

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