I'm on my feet, I'm on the floor, I'm good to go....

"Come over. We'll get you drunk."
He downed vodka and chased it with rum. You and I watched and laughed as he swayed and slurred. We took him to the park and he professed love for some unknown girl and fell all over the ground. We shared cigarettes and wet smiles and showed him which trees were the safe ones. The night drew on, and the 'kid' threw up and passed out. The rest of the time was spent talking and keeping a watchful eye on our rum-breathed boy.
"Is he still breathing?"
"Yeah, we can leave him for a bit."
On the porch, with my bare feet sinking into a cold soaked mat, the rain inched into my clothes and hair. You blew smoke into the dark sky, your dress shirt turning transparent. We shared words and broke time into pieces small enough to swallow. We took each minute and stretched it out so I wouldn't have to wake up. You asked questions, you asked me why I cared so much. You tried to make me see another side of myself.
"Who cares what everyone else thinks, you have to do things for yourself."
I don't do that. I see the good sides of people, and then I can't let go of them, even if they're assholes. It was all so hard to hear. It was hard to feel someone care. It was hard to realize how weak I had become.
Back inside and out of the rain, we lifted the drunk one into bed and layed awake beside him, hearing shallow breaths and a turning stomach.

In the morning, when they were gone and the house was clean, I sat back to try and forget. I wanted to cut the snapshot of last night into slivers of undefinable picture amd throw them away. I tried to erase all the words you said that made me feel so foreign. You told me I deserved better. You made me feel like I deserved to be appreciated and loved and looked after. But I don't. You don't see all of me. I've wasted too many days and left too many scars to deserve anything more than second-rate. Sleepless nights and the sinking sigh of regret.

Later on, I layed awake to wait for the phone and a chance to clear my head. It rang, and the wait proved useless, and I returned to my room. Something settled over me then, as I sat with paper and pen. An itching heat that blushed my face and tensed my muscles. A fed-up, restless, red-hot anger. Something I wasn't familiar with feeling. Questions shot through my skull and nagged my self-assurance. Why did I put up with it? Why did I sacrifice my own happiness? I tried to sleep it off, but no such luck. It was a realization that if I kept getting walked on, I would get pushed so far into the ground that I would never get out again. Your words flew around my head, prophecies from someone much younger and far more wise. Why was it you teaching me??? Shouldn't I know all this already? Have 19 years on this detached planet proved nothing? Why do I bubble with frustration, only to have it melt away when we're face to face? Why do I love when all there is in return is ignorance?

So thank you, young one. One who knows more than he should. One who saw right through me, but told it to me in a way that wasn't aggresive or critical. You just opened my eyes a bit wider, and made me see what I needed and what I didn't. You were wiser than the last time I saw you. You know we have no future, but that doesn't encourage you to forget me.








"Her style is new but the face is the same as it was so long ago,
but from her eyes, a different smile like that of one who knows."
-Led Zeppelin