two thousand eighteen thoughts

15.01.18

we’re all dancing there in a circle and his coat is brushing against my arm in the way a coat brushes against an arm when there's a coat and arm in close proximity and my arm keeps brushing against the side of his jeans in a mundane and not yet unintentional way

i have to pretend im realllllllly into all the lighting to stop myself from checking every five seconds to see if he's at all looking in my direction just for a second (he’s not). 

at one point he offers me gum and everyone else is there but i lean in and im so close to him, i have this memory of his cheek or head or hair or something against mine, we're both staring down at this gum for what feels like a small slice of forever 

afterwards i end up having to put the gum somewhere on the wall outside and it gets all stuck on my fingers cause its so chewed up 

and i can’t get it off. 

he spends the rest of the night in and out of view, he's talking to her even though they've been broken up for months now and im moving side to side on queue watching everyone be very drunk like slow motion, not because im drunk, because: it almost feels like im watching it all unfold from behind a screen of a computer in a film where nothing ever happens to me

afterwards i realise the strangeness of him wearing a puffer jacket in the club

5.10.18

i don’t know why i feel so home

even when my words go through him 

he hears me and responds fondly yet the way in which he works bemuses me 

i remember he is a machine 

and i am a person and he doesn’t care

and i teach myself to believe it was a dream 

because its easier than thinking I’m a fool 

or that he lies to me over and over 

and in truth i'm stood there speaking to a wall 

that at the time smiled 

seeing him, staring into this wall, i move closer and closer  

i still look on in wonder in awe 

thinking how foolish i am, to see these things in the dark 

26.12.18

I fear death immensely, and yet I have this blindly romantic notion of my memory in death and what were to remain of me if i were to die all of a sudden in some tragic accident or something. In my so called life, Angela says this thing about when someone dies young, or at least “before their time”: - it's like they stay that way forever, like a vampire. I’m aware of it’s naivete, and by no means wish for my life to end anytime soon, there are too many good things about living, but still there’s this ideal of some person saying “there was always something sad about her” or “nobody really knew her”, or anything equally corny and cliche..... Isn’t that what everyone wants, the one mythical perk in being offed prematurely, the impossible and futile validation of looking down from heaven while everyone fawns over the shoulda-coulda-woulda’s and you’re all like...I TOLD YOU SO! I told you I was DEEP!