sticky eyeballs
2003-02-23 - 1:26 p.m.

we got a sticky glow-in-the dark eyeball in the quarter machine at walmart late last night. we used it to replace the missing puck from the air hockey table we always play on. stupid to think that would didn't.

hours later, the eyeball had been thrown onto the ceiling, knocking down some of the drywall onto the bed, floor and my jacket. hours later, the eyeball was glowing and i watched it as best as i could, a sort of staring contest that i knew i couldn't win.

i suppose none of this makes sense, but really, what does when you think about it long enough?

she and i, we walked around the store at 2:00 in the morning, looking for something to eat. not much money between us, we kept adding up the prices to see if we had enough. we figure this is how it will be when we move out. eating fruit cocktail out of the can with plastic utencils. it's all we can afford. toilet paper and fruit in a can.

footsteps are louder at 2:30 in the morning on the cheap carpet in the hallway. when you're walking quickly down to open the door for someone who you aren't supposed to open the door for. he comes in dripping wet and smiling and you tell him it took him long enough and he apologizes, but you didn't mean it in a bad way.

what is it about the rain early early in the morning? when you can hear it through the cracked-open window as it hits the shingles on the roof. what is it about the breeze early in the morning? when you can feel it through the cracked-open window on your face when the rest of your body is under the covers and he is right beside you.

do you understand how cold the bed gets when there's only one person in it? that it's not a matter of blankets and sheets, but legs and arms and the breath shared inside the inch left between your faces. that regardless of how you tell yourself you don't need him, really, really, you think maybe you do.

to be certain of something. that's what i want.

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