mistaken for somebody else, perhaps a brunette...

merriment has its own
individual downfalls:
consider the mess left behind
after the crowd has
gone away,
paper stuck to the gutters of the street,
footprints crusted into
the leftover rain.
the silence of some boy,
gone to bed without her,
plainly addicted to that
heat between
the sheets. a
heat which has
nothing to do with
her body. nothing at all.

i swear to god the streets flooded last night as we slept. we: half-listened to the wind, flipping beneath the covers, tossing and turning, all the while thinking "aren't we lucky, to have a roof above our heads? we've really got our shit together, haven't we?" (and other random affirmations).

she hears it on
the radio.

the radio.

"i'm all out of faith. this is how i feel..."

radio refers to this as "the worst thing ever." she rolls her eyes and laughs.

"oh radio. yeah yeah and kwit-yer-bitchin. it's only another new year. it's only two thousand and six. what the fuck were you expecting? something new??? something better??? get over yourself, radio! breathe it in, soak it up. see it for what it really is: your " worst day ever." right radio? right?"

right. whatever.

her new year's resolution was to get her shit together for real. to put the focus on herself. to see him for what he really was, which was practically good/for/nothing anyway.




did he miss her in
her absence? did she even
cross his mind?
with crucial topics such as
golf and chevrolet
at hand, the safe answer was
a guaranteed
no.
not that it hurt her, knowing this.
it only stung,
a little. was
equivelent to a
tiny cut,
carved out at
the tip of
her thumb.

which happened
on accident,
of course.