Use
i'll pretend to see what you see
Mark has a firm grip on his life. He has all this thoughts in his head he can’t decipher, so he puts them on a blank paper. It doesn’t bother him that, most of the time; people don’t understand him, even though, as it seems to him, he talks in small words a kid could understand. He smiles, nevertheless, he always smiles.
He has been drinking a lot lately. Every new country he sets his foot in, has a unique smell and taste; he has to try them all. Cubbie makes him coffee afterwards; Cubbie holds his liquor much better.
Mark is in his bunk, as the bus moves the lights play with shadows on the curtain. He’ll use those shapes later, transform them into words.
But sometimes, when there is nothing to do, when he is stuck with his laptop somewhere God-forgot-where, his past creeps up to him, and lays her head on his chest. She looks at the screen and he looks at her. She smells like baking powder and vanilla, it’s so sweet it sickens him. She lays still, listening to his heart beat picking up speed when she interlaces her fingers with his.
She has blue and green painted on her skin. He has washed his away; he never wants to have them again. But her calling is so tempting, so sickly sweet, he wants it so bad.
In the morning, when she disappears, no one can see even the smallest trace of her ever being there.
He has dark circles under his eyes; that’s where she hides in the daylight.
It’s been a year since she last showed up. And Mark smiles, he always smiles.
He has been drinking a lot lately. Every new country he sets his foot in, has a unique smell and taste; he has to try them all. Cubbie makes him coffee afterwards; Cubbie holds his liquor much better.
Mark is in his bunk, as the bus moves the lights play with shadows on the curtain. He’ll use those shapes later, transform them into words.
But sometimes, when there is nothing to do, when he is stuck with his laptop somewhere God-forgot-where, his past creeps up to him, and lays her head on his chest. She looks at the screen and he looks at her. She smells like baking powder and vanilla, it’s so sweet it sickens him. She lays still, listening to his heart beat picking up speed when she interlaces her fingers with his.
She has blue and green painted on her skin. He has washed his away; he never wants to have them again. But her calling is so tempting, so sickly sweet, he wants it so bad.
In the morning, when she disappears, no one can see even the smallest trace of her ever being there.
He has dark circles under his eyes; that’s where she hides in the daylight.
It’s been a year since she last showed up. And Mark smiles, he always smiles.