We will drink beer and look at Facebook and write poetry about llamas and make drunken YouTube videos of us walking through a snowstorm at night in a gated community in Massachusetts. We will shower separately and meet in bed. You will turn off the light and I will sit on the bed and a car will pass on the street and its headlights through the window will briefly illuminate your left eyebrow and then your entire face as you walk toward me.
The next day you will work on a novel about a lonely woman in New York City. I will work on a novel about depressed movie stars who don’t read books or look at blogs or have pets. We will meet in the living room at 3:30PM and eat watermelon by the window and watch small children walk home from school. We will write poetry about planetariums and outdoor recess and drink iced coffee and lay on the carpeted floor listening to acoustic guitar music by sad women in their late-20s.
We will drive to a new Japanese restaurant across the street from a Wal-Mart shopping plaza and it will be very dark inside and we will sit side-by-side in a corner booth and hold hands under the table. We will eat edamame and drink green tea. We will stay more than two hours and our waitress will watch us from the distance and we will whisper illogical phrases to each other and nod with serious facial expressions and hold each other and look at the rest of the restaurant with wide and calm and discerning eyes while thinking about the future and death and the next day and boredom.
After dinner we will drive around listening to emotional guitar music from the mid-90s and you will rest your head on my shoulder and I will pet your hair and think about crying and you will look at the speedometer and think about your childhood. In a 24-hour grocery store at 2:30 a.m. we will walk through the produce section and it will be very bright and I will say that I feel insane and drunk and you will pick up a muffin and ask me how many calories I think it is and I will say 860 and you will say 1120 and I will slap it out of your hand and while you are distracted I will kiss your mouth and then step back and look at your face. You will ask what I see and I will say your name and grin and hold your hand and we will walk through each aisle of the grocery store without talking. In the parking lot you will let go of my hand and run to the car and stare at me as I walk toward you with a neutral facial expression.
In bed at 5:30 a.m. we will talk about organic gardening and small children and the future and Japan and Iceland and happy-sounding music with sad lyrics. When sunlight begins to brighten the room you will roll over and say you feel sleepy. I will pet your shoulder and hold you a little with my hand on your stomach. I will wonder if you are asleep and think about my friend in elementary school who I played Zelda with on regular Nintendo and what I would like the order of songs to be if I recorded a 5-song EP of sad songs with acoustic guitar and a muted drumset and a violin that sounded like it was being played in another room.
one day your gonna see a cute boy and he’s gonna become your boyfriend or husband he won’t just be another cute boy added to the list of guys that ignored you
i actually really needed this
oh my god i’m fucking sick of this generation’s mentality that your sadness is beautiful and somebody will fix you and all this fucking john green shit nobody will find you in a bookstore reading bukowski and want to lie with you and nobody will kiss your scars and you will not be like effie and freddie you’ve got to be your own fucking hero and surround yourself with positivity