i wanted to tell him about the way things
can bleed when you least expect it. i
wanted him to hold my hand and ask me
about my father, about death and what
it takes from you when the two combine
and there's nothing left to do about it
except to keep breathing. i told him
stories about sunflowers and snow
and how my love for both could never
be measured, just simply is. i laughed
out memories of being drunk and stumbling
and almost getting into the wrong car only
to watch my best friend do the same and my
not stopping her. i joked about the laws
of gravity, of girlhood, of best friends who
always know what you're thinking before
you're even thinking it. but he never asked
about the depression, the pushing away, the
sadness that never seems to leave things
alone. he never asked why my best friend
continued to linger even after attempted
suicides, drugs, alcohol, theft of boys that
were never hers or mine to take from
eachother. so i told him about the shows
i watched, the books i read, my opinion
on everything from pop music to the ever
growing population of angst-ridden teenagers
but i never brought up the filthiness of sex
with a stranger, waking up unable to remember
where you've been-where you are, the insanity
that comes with falling in love every day and how
sometimes it's so very hard to escape from.
i never told him that every moment spent
with him was slowly taking pieces away from
me. i never told him that everything
that was left unsaid
was killing me.
i was quickly dying from his lack of interest
in anything real enough to put a finger on.
i was dying from his lack of touch.
and he,
he was only dying
s l o w l y

from my second-hand smoke.

10/01/2003

Posted on 10/02/2003
Copyright © 2024 Olivia Weinkein