Kim Iverson is a waste of air. Today I dye my hair black and realize that willing yourself sober, doesn't make you sober. I sometimes find myself secretly rooting for USC when they play Oregon just because I think I need something else to fight with my mom about.
He is never my lover. He just knows things about me that I don’t know other people can know. I find out that he owns a copy of The Secret Language of Birthdays and uses it frequently as a reference tool to screen his friends. He cuts off the lit ends of cigarettes so that he doesn’t inhale the flame retardant. He teaches me the sign of a true adult friend is that they consider you when you are not around.
He dismantles me. I do not know if it is his sex or his personality. It might be his tattoo, or his bass. He cleans Sharpie off of me and never tells anyone. He gives me the feeling that I am looking at a photograph of us from far away. A black and white photograph, where he is holding me around his waist by my legs; it is raining and it is summer. My face is very close to his, the water dripping down our foreheads intersects at our noses. I sag a little as he bends his knees.
I often confuse the feeling of neglect with the feeling of love.
That last line.
ReplyDeleteI've read it five times now and it gets to me every time.
"I often confuse the feeling of neglect with the feeling of love."
I know that feeling.
I FEEL that feeling.