November 5, 2010 § Leave a comment
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November 2, 2010 § Leave a comment
She brewed the coffee that made the whole world sing.
Quietly, with her feet tipped and a familiar shirt crumpled, riding through her bones, she made her exit. Tiny creaks from the door bolts. Tiny whispers from her toes. And the elegance of her lack of underwear grazes my room with a faint taste of heaven. More accurately, heaven was last night.
Looking at her eyes was like reading a map. I didn’t know where to start, and I didn’t know where to go. But the rides were fun. There were oceans of emotions inside her, making it impossible to know who she really was. I knew, for one, that she had lost her dog. And she made her way here last night, because I was the closest thing she had to a dog. So she walked into my apartment, soaking wet from the rain that drowned the city. So I put that Jens Lekman record on, and quietly consoled her, when he sang: “When I said I wanted to be your dog… I just wanted to lick your face.”
She made me lick her face, and she licked mine, too.
Hers tasted like coffee and it kept me up all night.
All the dogs and coffee in the world won’t sum up to this modern love.
She left me with a kiss on the forehead, and “Last night was great.” I said “We should do this again some time,” but she probably didn’t hear me, busy with regrets. By that, I mean walking out the door and walking briskly as if a ghost was chasing her. Or, pretending that her dog was on the other side of the street. Or, pretending I wasn’t her dog at all.
I went to school today, where my teacher taught about breaking pangea. He walked in elegantly, with a cup of coffee in his right hand. I can promise you that a tear was shed.
There were talks about how the world used to be one piece, and people didn’t have to ride airplanes and ships to go where they wanted to, except if the ocean was their destination. It could have been a simpler time. But my teacher made a good point.
“There was never a simpler time for the world, even if we lived in a bed of land. You know why? Because time has proven that with humans, separation is inevitable. Abandonment…”
I wondered why the biggest beds in Ikea were for only a maximum of two people. Why are there no beds that can fit one family of five? One class of forty? How about one gigantic bed for the whole of New York City? Where everyone can just lie down and talk about how their day was, read a book to fall asleep, and eventually hold a hand. Stroke her hair. Kiss her forehead. Watch her soul.
I thought people were screaming. The bell had rung.
I was staring out my window one day.
I don’t know if she found her dog, but I’m pretty sure she found someone else. My bed turned into stone.
I realized, it was time for me to sleep.