For someone, maybe

There is rain. And a large tree is missing. It has been weeks, but it isn't so much worth paying attention. Did it fall on you, your car, your wife, or your future ability to make a living? No. Move on. I only practice my speech for quitting my job while waiting to make this left. I also come up with plans for rapid evacuation and/or decent into hell. It is fine.

These are the perfect shoes for you. Enough lift to separate you from boys and enough angle to attract men. Those three months in that room with grayish walls and a nearly consistent empty bed taught you only how to keep from going back there. But nothing else. I can tell by the way you bite the lip of those unsuspecting girls you kiss.

A stomach turns and you can't tell if it is because you skipped a meal to keep the evening going or you are sick of the thoughts in your own head.

Decide to stop yawning because you aren't tired, you are just bored.

I was thinking about crying. Everyone turned off their phones. Everyone fell asleep, or is fucking. And I'm not doing either of those. At least tears mean something. Something shallow. Something forced. Something.

But fuck all that noise, right?

You can't even give away the parts of your life that matter. You can't fill the holes with an open casting call. You can't expect phone calls, thoughts, lust, desire, boredom, shots, baggies or the occasional peeping tom.

You can't keep fingers crossed for anything.

Everyone is mad.

Everyone is leaving.

Everyone will be gone on Christmas day.

So you'll sit on a couch and count ghost steps to beds and doors that get no use. You'll listen for the water to boil that will heat the noodles of your twenty cent Christmas dinner. You'll say something to no one at all. And the sun will set and you will got to bed.

(I can only imagine you occupying sixty-four seconds of space in my life. They are non-consecutive. No foreplay. No conversation. Just this list of how one would make it through an evening: 8 smiles. One on accident, more than a year ago, when no one knew anyone's name. 2 occasions in a spa and/or jacuzzi both times with no reasonable ambition or ability to control your actions. 1 car ride. 3 sloppy fucks. 1 and a half intense sessions of lovemaking (the half time interrupted by a shitty DJ and the constant looking over one's shoulder). 14 text messages, most from when you were too drunk to spell "miss", "honestly" and "soon" but 3 from a valley while I was stuck on a mountain. 2 sunrises, one with vomit, one without. And the rest of the time is just me putting your hair behind your ear so I can kiss you. I spent some time with a woman a while ago, and I put her hair behind her ear, and it just made me want to cut my fingers off so I never thought about doing it again.)

This is nowhere where I wanted it to be.

Sorry.