I don’t even know what that previous post means, or who it was intended for. Please don’t ask. My mind seems to wander when I’m drunk. Especially that drunk.
And I’ve gathered I love writing to anonymous ex-lovers. I think it is some sort of collective “you” I’ve got going on. Let me point ten thousand drunken fingers all at once!
In other news, I think a bone in my foot is broken. I really should not have walked from the rooftop on Thomspon and Spring all the way to my place off Avenue B.
Categories: City · Unhealthy
Tagged: anonymous, avenue b, broken, drunk, ex-lovers, fingers, foot
It’s midnight! Dare I write a sentence so drunk the letters drip of vodka and you, in your slackbrowwed wonder, know I stretch the truth?
I know if you saw this, my fingers tracing over these letters, you would fall in love with me again. I know this about you. You could fall in love with me two thousand times and I would stop believing. Your silence is final and my response is, too. But I will stop writing when I feel you have finally walked away. You walk slow. You step softly.
This matters more to you than me. I know this because you know this. I have no idea who I mean for you to be anymore. I could write in the second person to anyone and you’d see it your way. That is what your ego means. And for the record: Carly Simon was right.
Don’t you? Don’t you? Don’t you?
Categories: Coronary
Tagged: clouds, coffee, ego, love, sentence, truth, vain, vodka, walk, wonder
