I always win the impressively choreographed imaginary fights in my head, then stress out for days over shit that doesn’t even make sense.
Just spent 20 minutes remembering listening to the radio with a blank tape ready to record all those songs I can’t even remember now.
She only calls me
when no one else is home.
Releasing a sigh
with a request for company,
as if I were the lucky one,
someone who must be
waiting by the phone
for the gifted privilege of her voice
saying the words
I’ve been waiting
so long to hear.
At times it feels
like I will never remember
why it was
I came here in the first place.
Everyone is fighting something,
some invisible feeling
we give birth to in our minds,
but our own perception contradicts us,
it teaches us the war’s external
through hints only found
in the expressions on other people’s faces.
I don’t have a bucket list, I have a fuck it list.