When I Draw Maps
I am waiting and sitting and thinking and pretending that you do not exist and you are not real and I can return to my normally scheduled life. I am in the middle of doing this while I check my email and voicemail and clicking and wondering and waiting and pretending it isn’t you. It isn’t you because, because, because my life is filled with too many things anyway. I just met you. You don’t know my middle name. You don’t know how I like my ice cream. You don’t even know if I like cats or dogs or clouds. I like them all, by the way.
I feel asleep on a train once and when I woke up I didn’t know where I was. I missed my stop, I guess, but it was beautiful and exciting. I wonder if I am sleeping. I wonder if I’ll wake up. I wonder, if I do, will I be able to speak Japanese this time?
Of course I’m scared. Of course I’m scared. Who isn’t scared?
Maybe I’m just selfish. Maybe I am just asking for too much. Maybe all you want from me is a little bit and all you want to give is your name, maybe your number, maybe you’ll have dinner and tell me a joke. But that doesn’t mean you want to understand me or know me or anything really. Maybe it is like that for you instead of me this time.
I’m just guessing when I draw maps on the back of your hand with my finger. I’m just pretending not to notice how you leaned into me at the park. I’m just guessing you like art better than my smile.
I don’t want to fall like yesterday’s whisper. I don’t want to forget all that hasn’t happened. I think if you punch me I would feel better but I really just want to hold your hand and make believe this is real.
I don’t want an ending.
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