after awhile when you bounce back and forth between different hearts nothing gets old. you never really have to mean anything to anyone. i have intimacy problems with the world.

her eyes are blackened around the edges so much that she looks like a racoon. they look like permenant black eyes- the consumate victim. everybody loves the victim. he can’t put his finger on what it reminds him of but the closest he can come are old zombie movies. she’s made-up to look half dead- which still beats most of them who are just half-alive anyway. her hair looked like rows of shark teeth dyed over dye jobs like she was running away from her natural color. no one wants to be what they are. she looks independent in a very vulnerable way. the safest kind of dangerous. they drove around the city so she could alternate between cigarettes and coffee. they talked about the kids they hated just so they have something to agree about. they used to be just like us. they're sitting on the edge of her bed. every single inch on his body is filled with millions of nerves. somewhere inside his brain neurons have fired to synapses and put them on alert. when his hands brush hers it feels electric. every movement has a meaning, either yes or no. its getting later and later. the conversation and the possibilities are running out. last call. this is a war. every time she moves her hand to her hair she is sending him signals. stay or leave. why can’t he figure them out. don’t strike first. wait until he is tired enough to make a move. lean in to kiss her bringing an awkward break in conversation. as he pulls back she keeps talking about writers and bands she thinks will make her look cooler. but he's fooled if only because he is worried she has found him out. her sheets smell like stale cigarettes smoked by boys who were him on nights before. imagine the chemistry of swallowed DNA. she has a scar that runs down her back right along the spine, like somebody tried to steal it. he joked her like this: “someone must have ignored the blue prints, look at all the structural damage”. but he stuttered and trailed off. the smoke curled off of her lips. for a second he was dying to be it. dying to be as clever and kissable as her. there she was sitting in front of him, knee pulled up to to her chin. smoking a cigarrette thinking of something or someone else. and thats how she will be stuck in his mind forever. two explorers in the dark, mapless and hopeless. alone together. its funny how easy it is to sleep with someone, but how hard it is to sleep next to someone. it’s too intimate. it makes his heartbeat race and pound inside his head. it is deafening. he slides his arm from behind her head and slip out the door. the pavement on the sidewalk is watching him go over every moment in my head. it’s watching him remember her. mistake by mistake. frame by frame. we’re not just taking trips down memory lane, we are broken down on it.