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orphan memories
I should be at school but I never got my homework done. I was considering a few varieties of half-days, but I won't have enough time. Never enough time. The parrot's squawking in a weird way I've never heard before, must've learned it while we were gone. I slept with a cat last night for the first time in more than a year. I think the furnace is broken. Aren't there only twenty-some days of school left? I don't care if I get a job this summer, really, I just want to spend time with Pierre. We were gone 'til Wednesday, actually Thursday morning. Dad called and left messages Monday, Tuesday. Dumbass. You know why I'm cryptic? I know you probably didn't mean me, but I always wonder. I'm cryptic because I'm afraid. I'm not as open as you about everything. I'm not sure. If I came right out and said it -- I want to be friends again but I'm too afraid to be the first to talk -- I'm afraid you'd just laugh at me. Oh, yeah, you don't miss me anyway. That's too bad. These have been an unexciting couple of months without you. Unexciting, unbearable at times, you're so open about not missing me that I think it was just meant for me, to see and angrily decide I don't miss you either, I don't have any anger left. We were such close friends at one point, but it's hard for me to even imagine that now. Screaming out car windows at Mr. Gilbert with donuts seems like such an orphan memory. Speeding down the road with Charles yelling fuck this, fuck the world! Picking you up at writing camp. Those memories don't really seem to be a part of who I am now. But neither do those memories of parks at night, gazebo in rain, first kiss, fidgetty movie. Who am I? I really would like to be friends again. I don't know how it would feel. I know who I am, I don't need you to define me anymore, that's why I want to be friends again, because it was fun while it lasted. Walking in squares, Scales, barn on fire, black curtains, ddr, apple juice, walks through tall grasses, golf cart.
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