Interlude

I’m from Philadelphia; not the city, but close enough, and now I live in Los Angeles. I like the way the heat cooks down on my nearly colorless skin and how ocean waves are only a short brief rapid pace away. I’ll miss the cold and the leaves and the rain from time to time, but I’m largely okay here. It’s different and I’m different and those objects sing well together. I woke up this morning to a similar singing but this time of birds which was the encouragement I needed to have a day existing in positivity. I’ve existed in love for time time time and time again, but now I can kiss the sun instead and that excites me. I’m excited but I’m sullen and I’m sad but I’m sure that will pass like the tree’s shadows. I smoke now and I eat less and milk is in my sphere of avoidance too. But I know I’ll get better because the nausea that comes as a result of those things always passes.

I hate when people don’t tap their cigarettes, especially people who I love and who claim to love me because it makes me feel like they’re not listening. When people don’t listen, how can they really love you? Leaning against a wall painted in caution tape as my granite pitch white pounding furniture, I’ll tell you my story.