i read and read till words banged around in my head and all that i could think was your voice saying hello repeatedly over the phone. my eyes got so dry and my contact lenses felt like white films over my corneas. i could see but i couldn’t read. the words were starting to blur and i could almost make out your name in random letters that jumped out at me from the page. i wondered if the madness in the book was infecting me like a disease.
i’m mad with grief.
i’m mad with paranoia.
i’m mad with drama.
i’m mad with rage.
i’m mad with worry.
i’m mad from your absence.
i’m mad without you.
i’m mad without you.
i’m mad without you.
i’m mad without you.
i’m mad without you.
——————–
it’s amazes me how twigs look like bones in the shadows of a void-deck bench. i think of bones and soup, and dogs.
dogs.
i think of your dogs. i think of faggot and perdy. i think of perdy and the perdy massages you used to give me. these days, i think in a round-a-bout way. i don’t want to think thoughts of you in my head, but yet i want to, so very much. my mind goes about in round-a-bout ways just to think of you, so i won’t feel guilty thinking about you. but yet deep in my other mind i know. i know that i want to think you inside my head, and all i can see is your smile, your dimple, your cheeks, your hair, your smell, all playing inside my mind’s eye, like a little slideshow with olfactory and sound effects, which make it all the more worse for me, because it makes me madder every single second.
i’m not mad. i’m just mad. i know why. it’ll stop.
——————–
i was laughing and laughing uncontrollably. i remember trying to fight you off but i was no match for those hands. those hands that i loved so much.
the heady rush that comes with tickling filled my head and i laughed so much i couldn’t see because my eyes became slits and from my slits i saw your grin and your cheeky taunts. i was filled with so much joy inside it almost made me explode with sheer ecstasy.
then i woke up and realized it was all a dream. i wanted to cry because it felt so real but yet it was so far away, tucked in the recesses of my memory, and the only time i could access it was bits and pieces, in slumber. in slumber, only in slumber. i hate slumber. i dream of you in such vivid detail but when i wake up, i remember none of the details i so love about you. dreams corrupt memories; yes they do. dreams warp memories.
i remember feeling the urge to cry but i told myself, i must not cry, because i was a cute melon, and cute melons don’t cry. i cried anyway. but i still swear i am a cute melon.
——————–
i drank winter melon tea today so i could allow myself to think of you.
i’m not mad.
