It was a sinking feeling. A hole had opened up and I dropped in, stomach first. The horror. The shock. The embarrassment. And the terrible sinking feeling.
So I was smoking myself stupid. Burning paper cups from macdonalds with my zippo. Burning the cardboard. And the plastics. Gazing. At the sea. Sipping my flask. From dusk. Till dawn.
Each morning then, when I wake, I wonder if I should wake up at all. I wonder if there is anything to wake up to. I wonder if the world will notice I have woken up. Each morning, I needed to find a reason to live.
Yesterday someone told me that each woman has a drawer marked 'beautiful', stuffed full of all sorts of meaningless junk. So I sneaked into her house in the night. #12-288. I recognized the cloth curtain hanging at her doorway. The door was open. The cloth was floating up, slowly.
I was in her cozy room at 12.35am. Outside hung a dark cloud. With only the occasional flashes of lighting. The distant rumbles. The cold wind blowing in. The shivers.
Scratched my head. Scanned around her room. There was a track playing on her MacBook Pro. It was Girlfriend by Robbie Rivera. And it was sent to her by her boyfriend. Opened her cupboard. And I pulled opened the drawer. There were photos. Photos of her boyfriend. I was surprised. There was no handsome face. Not pretty at all. He looked, ugly. Still I made a copy of her photos.
I left her room, was drenched in the rain, took a cab back home. On my way, I reviewed the photos I had taken, and deleted them one by one off my Nikon, and so, when I got out of the taxi,
I never saw her again. And somehow, I felt much better.
So I was smoking myself stupid. Burning paper cups from macdonalds with my zippo. Burning the cardboard. And the plastics. Gazing. At the sea. Sipping my flask. From dusk. Till dawn.
Each morning then, when I wake, I wonder if I should wake up at all. I wonder if there is anything to wake up to. I wonder if the world will notice I have woken up. Each morning, I needed to find a reason to live.
Yesterday someone told me that each woman has a drawer marked 'beautiful', stuffed full of all sorts of meaningless junk. So I sneaked into her house in the night. #12-288. I recognized the cloth curtain hanging at her doorway. The door was open. The cloth was floating up, slowly.
I was in her cozy room at 12.35am. Outside hung a dark cloud. With only the occasional flashes of lighting. The distant rumbles. The cold wind blowing in. The shivers.
Scratched my head. Scanned around her room. There was a track playing on her MacBook Pro. It was Girlfriend by Robbie Rivera. And it was sent to her by her boyfriend. Opened her cupboard. And I pulled opened the drawer. There were photos. Photos of her boyfriend. I was surprised. There was no handsome face. Not pretty at all. He looked, ugly. Still I made a copy of her photos.
I left her room, was drenched in the rain, took a cab back home. On my way, I reviewed the photos I had taken, and deleted them one by one off my Nikon, and so, when I got out of the taxi,
I never saw her again. And somehow, I felt much better.
