this probably is about how the sun was on the opposite side of the sky when i woke up this morning. and how my name looks wrong every time i write it until it's gotten to the point that i'm not even sure how to spell it. it's about how everything has been flying out of my control so that i can't remember how to walk without making a sound. or how to hold on to the edges when my vision gets too blurry. this is almost certainly about how you live one and three fourth miles to the north of me, but i forgot and slept facing the south last night so now i just feel like i turned my back on you.

but really, this isn't about you.


it's about how i've subscribed to the same three magazines for three years now, and every time i open them i feel like i've seen it all before. and how today is like yesterday and four days before that. it's about how i'm a repeat stuck on repeat, and we're all the same, and i'm drowning in an ocean of these fluid lies and tired eyes. this is maybe, almost completely about how my syllables sound like falsities every time i answer the phone trying to sound like i've grown up, and about how i'm hoping it's you while i'm sifting through message lists and memories.

but really, i promise, i promise this isn't about you.


it's about how i forget what i'm saying in the middle of sentences with complex compound structures. and how i'm not much at talking since i get nervous and my words stop making sense. it's about how i speak in different languages that all sound alike or like stutters. and how you're clinging to my ribcage telling me to wait. to breathe. to smile. this is absolutely about how you're like two fingers on my wrist checking for a pulse and about how you're substituting your own sort of rhythm to the crash course soundtrack of my life.

this probably isn't about you, but maybe every other moment is.