do you like apples?

another day under the overhang. mine always lasts five days or so, but i've come to expect it, instead of analyze. i prefer the inconsideration of telling me what you're feeling instead of what you're thinking. and you do both so well. i'm just sharing my preference. it's worth the workweek, i suppose. or it can be. maybe that says something about you, maybe it says something about me.

don't leave out a single thing. maybe i shouldn't either. send it off, on wings, like a passenger pigeon, a note to open, uncurl, an anecdote to ease that feeling every time i try to smile at the mirror.

memories, like months, are overrated but probably necessary. it might be years, and i could still write you love songs, still remember the color of the clothes you wore, the corners of your mouth.

this shouldn't sound as bad as i'm sure it does. lifeless results lead to an excuse to never try again. and it's nothing if it's not lifeless. i can't draw you through the color of these windowpanes. i draw the blinds, i turn off the lights. i spend each night staring up at the ground, looking for the reasons i expend equal amounts of effort in trying and lying. how could that be true?

if you miss it, can't that be enough? and what words do you speak when your phobias are the only conversation left? i will sit here, and patiently tap out something to rationalize my inability to actualize. so it's no surprise when you say your head is throbbing or how tired you are.

and loneliness turns into that desperate thing with teeth, with smoke in my eyes, and i don't want to think about that now.

it's exactly what i think it is. they're all gone, it took a long time. you're the only one who'd want to be my valentine. i didn't want that to drive you crazy. i never meant to drag you down, so if i'm dragging you down now i could just wait in the lost and found, if you promise me that you'll be perfect. and i'll promise to come around sometimes. all smiles, saying hello.

shake my hand and take six steps back, have a seat. light another cigarette and have a drink for no regrets, nothing sad, nothing feeling down. we'll wear our halos and look like coffee table decorations.

some lowlit photograph of all the people i can only ever do wrong.