10.7.17

Bottle caps twisted off and dropped on the floor for the second night in the row.
This time there will be no vomiting on her navy bedspread, no amount of spilled detergent all over the washing machine, no searching for a phone ringing from a washing machine at three a.m.
Instead, there's just secrecy and limited shitty alcohol.
We're all curled up, my head beneath a bunk bed, sipping the magic liquid from a water bottle.
"What is it?"
- "It's iced tea."
I gag and I cough but neither of these reactions a result of my blatant lie.
We're all curled up, but I wish I was curled up with her.
I wish I was curled up with anyone at that moment.
He texts me, lighting up my phone, the same light that used to send my heart into a frenzy. I used to be frantic, and now I guess I am in a different way. I ask you questions and your honesty startles me.
"Back in the day."
"Yeah, I miss it sometimes."
Those pictures are yours now, and I'm trying to be okay with that.
You want more pictures to make your own, and I want more alcohol to warm my heart up; we have things each wants, but are we willing to give them up?
"Our friendship didn't really make sense. I don't even think we really understood it, but we made it work."
- "That's the perfect way to describe it."
We end the night, "This was a good conversation," and it was, it really was.
Yet I go to sleep, still wanting to see her.
I go to sleep, wanting anyone except for myself.