Crème de la Cream peach ice cream in a cup and small plastic spoons, and all of this on shaved couples on Italian stones reminds you of emp-teee-ness. Things that scare you is the knowledge of knowing that entertainment came easily back then or that boredom was accepted, when fingers slid over jam jars, spooned out and stored in Tupper wear. When all that was heard at night were the cars driving by and the kids jumping the back fence to the main road (no hills back then, just street lights and bus stops). When you returned back from other dustier houses and whispered ‘I wish you were a door’ into the walls wearing flower printed dresses and long plain socks. And from downstairs, there was nothing, but the sound of clicking needles if she was preoccupied, the tub sloshing with water and bubble bath fumes hanging over the mirrors if she also was preoccupied. And you’d hear it then, the smallest, slightest sound, of your teeth hitting others. When stretching out your palm you’d see maps, and when you saw maps you would only see yourself.
[Relapse – time skips 5 and a half minutes]
Concern. Doubt. Maturity. Knowing that there are always, always, pretend cameras on you.
[Set the tent up out back]
It can only spare you from mosquitoes and light rain, but you willingly let the cable in so you sat up at night, chewing stale Doritos, sour apples and blueberry soda watching peter pan flicker off the small TV in the backyard you set up. With torchlight’s you promised yourself you’d explore the neighborhood (world) come night fall, but you gave up so fast when sleep came, fast and tumbling into your dreams of flying, fairies and lips. Lamps were lit on treetops, you got called in. The tent got lost in boxes and papers when you moved. How you dream now, whilst lying on your patterned bed, of rumbling leaves, pixie sticks and never-land, how you dream now of washing away the permanent smell of cigarettes in the Christmas tin. To make up for it all you wallpaper sunflowers under the window sill, you plant roses in purple flower pots (Watering regularly) and cry once a night to the Mellomen.
[Look for the tent]
“Its not in any of the boxes, my tent, its not, lets go buy a new one please”
“Please”
“Please”
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Submission Name: heaven
