i remember endless nights in a dirty coffee shop. booths with faded, dingy upholstery, vinyl seats slashed, duct taped, slashed again revealing nicotine-yellow foam. it didn't matter that we weren't doing anything, somehow we could talk and drink coffee and smoke 'til the sun came up, every night, always different but always the same.
sometimes it was just me and a best friend, sometimes a group of aquaintances, near-strangers, huge groups, yelling across the table. sometimes it was writing "romance novels", sometimes it was inane conversations my mind could step out of so easily (and often did). never alone. never.
it was some of the most tense, dramatic, emotional moments. i remember, seventeen years old, wishing i could make her stop weeping, wishing i could give her my energy, wishing i could reverse the damage i'd done, but only able to hold her hand and tell her i love her. i remember, just last summer, look at the cuts on my arm, look at what i've done to myself, look at what you've done to me.
it was first "dates", it was the girl who got away. that girl, i still remember the feel of her lips on mine, and the burning i felt every time she touched me, the scent of menthol cigarettes on her breath. it was the night he crouched next to me, and whispered his confession in my ear, the words he had never told anyone else before. the words resounded in my mind and i sat there, dumbfounded, shocked, a little bit crestfallen, stirring my coffee, smoking my cigarette.
it was always "one more cigarette before we go."
but usually it was nothing, just killing time, getting out of the house, idle conversation, a few laughs.
and now, now the night is day, spent mostly (for all technical purposes) alone. memories, and the rhythmic clacking of keys.
sometimes it was just me and a best friend, sometimes a group of aquaintances, near-strangers, huge groups, yelling across the table. sometimes it was writing "romance novels", sometimes it was inane conversations my mind could step out of so easily (and often did). never alone. never.
it was some of the most tense, dramatic, emotional moments. i remember, seventeen years old, wishing i could make her stop weeping, wishing i could give her my energy, wishing i could reverse the damage i'd done, but only able to hold her hand and tell her i love her. i remember, just last summer, look at the cuts on my arm, look at what i've done to myself, look at what you've done to me.
it was first "dates", it was the girl who got away. that girl, i still remember the feel of her lips on mine, and the burning i felt every time she touched me, the scent of menthol cigarettes on her breath. it was the night he crouched next to me, and whispered his confession in my ear, the words he had never told anyone else before. the words resounded in my mind and i sat there, dumbfounded, shocked, a little bit crestfallen, stirring my coffee, smoking my cigarette.
it was always "one more cigarette before we go."
but usually it was nothing, just killing time, getting out of the house, idle conversation, a few laughs.
and now, now the night is day, spent mostly (for all technical purposes) alone. memories, and the rhythmic clacking of keys.
VIEW 12 of 12 COMMENTS
melissa2:
Thank you thank you.......i am super excited.
webspider:
so I went to don's last night. first time in 6 months. its still the same redneck little craphole.. sad