Tuesday, February 3, 2009

i like the sound of the shower,

and the smell of cinnamon pillows, and the way the light shoots through a corner of the french doors when i wake up still on the receiver.

and the way we sat at the park with that water bottle having some holes and the secret pockets of your jacket, the way you'd lose everything and have to find it again. our gas station bags, a lighter, hot fries, and pretzels on the ground. it was all over your jacket, and we laughed until we cried, and i had to be the look out. your pants kept sagging, and i made you turn away even though you could barely stand up. and the way you pulled my swing next to yours. you said everything looked like a high-definition photograph. i spilled a slushy on me and you didn't laugh. your dad's car was gone and we ran to your room in loud laughs. we didn't care about your brother and his friend in the living room. sometimes you kiss me in the middle of my sentences, and i keep talking even if you're not always listening.


02/3/09: i'm hidding in the bathroom and i haven't opened the box yet. looking over a fortune told from a cookie and wondering what iowa might be like, way up over there. i miss when best friends were a big deal, and when i had so many hemp bracelets i'd give them all away to any person who asked for one. going on a nature walk, which really means to either a) the graveyard or b) the shed out in the back to take care of some business. i like calling it "picnics" when really we're just eating store-bought food in sticky booths until we can tell they want to kick us out.

my name is ashli and i spit my gum out in the cafeteria when i think no one's looking.

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