Stream of Consciousness

Your Stardust (or Girls Unfortunate Enough to Have Loved Me)

Except it never goes away, does it? This feeling of missing pieces. Loosed-leaf paper dancing in the visible billowed wind as the fan scans the heated bedroom. It’s 12 p.m. and I taste your sweat on my lips, the tip of my tongue swollen from the thirst of you. || Faltering at the edges, staring at stars. Your eyes. Your skin. The waves of your hair. Reminiscing the six-in-the-morning thoughts that run through my mind like night stallions chasing the mares. || Your love: a mixed tape the car stereo ate; a sell-by-date; batteries not included; rough around the edges; scentless potpourri. || Heated weather. Sweat stains on the sheets. The scratches on my arms. || We were each others first disappointments.

Alternate History · Personal

Untitled Pt. 1

Nothing feels real in these moments. Staring at the face in the mirror, this familiar stranger whose eyes are bagged and drooping. Wisps of gray hair blending into the dark. It’s one of those dissociative moments. At least something in the hypnagogia realm. And my mouth cracks open. The question on my lips is, “Who are you?” But before any sound comes out, the alarm on my bed blares, shaking me awake. A dream. All of it. A dream.

I am seventeen years old. Outside breeze slips pass the curtain of my window, carrying with it the scent of rain. It’s expected. A drizzle. Something not uncommon in the month of January. The cold front they were expecting must’ve come in early, sometime in the middle of the night. Always prepared, I kept the window open just a crack so the stuffiness of my teenage bedroom didn’t choke me while I slept.

Dragging ass, I make it to the restroom where the day begins. Shower. Brush teeth. Comb hair, poorly. Rub the Avon-brand deodorant under each pit. Get dress. Leave the house. First day back to school after the winter holiday. Better make these last few months of high school last, they say. You’ll look back on these days, relishing in your youth. Remembering all the stupid things you did as fondly as do with whom you did them.

The halls of Edinburg North High School aren’t popping with life. Nobody wants to be here and nothing will change that. From the corner of my eye, I see Teddy lazily looking forward. He survived the break. When he approaches me, just in passing as we were never that close, he gives me that slight head nod. But some ass wad brushes up against him, knocking him into me.

His skin is cold; his hand grasping my bare wrist as he steadies himself. Fragments of a dream, like memories, pour into my head. “Wait,” I say before trailing off due to his interruption.

“Jesus fuck!” he shouts as the dickhead continues down the hall. “Sorry about that,” he turns to me. “See you around,” he says before leaving, mixing into the crowd of adolescents and vanishing from my sight.

And I whisper to myself, “Aren’t you in a coma? Aren’t you dying?”

“I passed Ms. Champion’s class last semester.” I’m speaking more to myself, but Miranda hears me.

“You seem uncertain,” she says.

“Nothing feels real,” I whisper. Either she doesn’t hear me, or she’s doesn’t care. Either way, my statement just floats in the air. For a bit before it fades in to the great unknown. Still, after lunch I walk by a Spanish classroom and take a peek inside. There are a few students already inside, but none of them look too familiar. Just faces in the crowd that sort of thing.

“Can I help you?” the teacher asks.

“No, I’m good, Ms. Ramos,” I say before heading toward my destination.

And once I’m in my seat, I wonder, how the hell did I know her name? I must have heard it after first period. Our classes are right next to each other, after all. In Media Tech, I work on a project Janie and I started before winter break. It keeps my thoughts in line, but even then something I can’t shake the thought that something if off. That all this is wrong, somehow.

After school, I head to my room and pop in the CD to the stereo I got for my birthday last year. Except, the stereo shouldn’t be here. I remember it was stolen in the break in several months ago. And that I wouldn’t get another until after graduation. After graduation?

The phone rings. It’s Kara. She’s at Jessica’s house, and thought she’d call me. Just to hear my voice. And I feign interest in her stories and words. And when she whispers “I love you,” there’s some hesitation on my part.

“It’s ok,” she says. “I already know.”

But she doesn’t know. She will in a few months when I admit my love for Jessica, instead. And she will become resentful towards us no matter how much she swears she’s ok with it.

The question remains, though. How do I know all this will transpire?

Personal

like endless rain into a paper cup

I can’t write. I don’t know understand the struggle. Yeah, there’s the whole not having written anything creative in ages, but it’s not like I haven’t been writing at all during this hiatus. There’s this blog. There’s work writing. There’s my journal. There’s writing my short intros during poetry readings at [redacted]. Yet, here I am tonight. Just rambling on this online journal after several failed attempts at something creative. Maybe it’s just the day? Maybe I can get something done tomorrow at work? Who knows. I doubt it, though. I have way too much on my plate this week, so there won’t be any me-time during my working hours. I’m just glad I finished my riddles Saturday.

I remember there was a time when writing came to me second nature. When I’d wake up in the middle of the night and rummage my nightstand for my notepad and just scribble thoughts down in the dark. That doesn’t happen anymore. I think the last thing I scrawled in my journal for creative purposes was a rough “sketch” of some dialogue shared with my boss. Well, she shared with me. (No, I’m not gonna indulge those details here. But if I should ever use it in a story, she’ll recognize it immediately.)

Even this post wasn’t meant for this subject. Originally, I was going to talk about Jenny, about the poetry reading, and my reading goals for the year (subject wise).

 

Doldrums · Music

Say Yes

I’m in love with the world through the eyes of a girl
who’s still around the morning after.
We broke up a month ago, and I grew up – I didn’t know
I’d be around the morning after

It’s always been wait and see
A happy day and then you’ll pay
And feel like shit the morning after
But now I feel changed around
And instead of falling down
I’m standing up the morning after
Situations get fucked up and turned around sooner or later
I could be another fool or an exception to the rule
You tell me the morning after.

Crooked spin can’t come to rest
I’m damaged bad at best
She’ll decide what she wants
I’ll probably be the last to know
No one says it ’til it shows
See how it is, they want you or they don’t
Say yes.

I’m in love with the world through the eyes of a girl
Who’s still around the morning after…

Sometimes there are things I wanna just get off my chest. But the privacy of my blog has changed drastically and I’m not ready to even begin to speak about these sort of things out loud in the company of others who will either reject or accept me. Instead, I lose myself in the white sun of afterthought and the cursed waves of forethought. Ashton told me she’d kick my ass if I wasn’t allowing myself some sliver of happiness, but there are somethings that take time to heal or even begin the process anew. I guess, what I’m trying to say is that I may have hope for something new in life, but I’m not giving up my hopes.