The Mailboxes
Day Three:
No post on Sunday.
I lie awake in my bed, staring up at the plaster swirls on the ceiling.
“You’re being ridiculous, Pinkus,” I say to myself aloud, hoping to gain some perspective so I can finally go to sleep instead of staring wantonly up at the ceiling/her floor. “You don’t even know her. Maybe she’s the worst.”
Maybe she’s the love of your life says another part of me that I’ve been trying to ignore.
“And maybe she’s married or is in hiding or maybe we just wouldn’t even be compatible as people—it’s fine. You’re fine. It’s all fine.”
But what if—
“You’re crazy. This is ridiculous. You’re ridiculous, you’re ridiculous, you’re—“
Then the wall behind my bed gives a little shake and I start to hear the “quiet” beginnings of the Kama Sutra Kids embarking on a sexpedition.
I bundle the sides of my pillow against my ears and continue to stare at the ceiling.
I lie awake in my bed, staring up at the plaster swirls on the ceiling.
“You’re being ridiculous, Pinkus,” I say to myself aloud, hoping to gain some perspective so I can finally go to sleep instead of staring wantonly up at the ceiling/her floor. “You don’t even know her. Maybe she’s the worst.”
Maybe she’s the love of your life says another part of me that I’ve been trying to ignore.
“And maybe she’s married or is in hiding or maybe we just wouldn’t even be compatible as people—it’s fine. You’re fine. It’s all fine.”
But what if—
“You’re crazy. This is ridiculous. You’re ridiculous, you’re ridiculous, you’re—“
Then the wall behind my bed gives a little shake and I start to hear the “quiet” beginnings of the Kama Sutra Kids embarking on a sexpedition.
I bundle the sides of my pillow against my ears and continue to stare at the ceiling.
♠ ♠ ♠
3/6