notes from the train ride home…
you never recognize how deliberate, purposeful, intentional each little touch is until you’re bathing in the agony of their absence. it is then, and only then, that you recognize each moment’s power. you suddenly understand the significance of the formerly insignificant. it hits you when you’re standing across the room, watching her, mid-laugh. she grazes her fingertips along the crook of some stranger’s arm, and you understand the methodical way she decided—and there definitely was a decision— to apply just enough pressure that had he been looking away, he would not have felt her fingertips over his shirt. you see this, you understand this, and your knees buckle. you reflect back to 20 minutes ago. she greeted you at the door and ushered you in, eyes smiling but unfocused, took your jacket, but never touched you.
wait.
you recall watching her silhouette, gracefully undulating around your orbit as she moved on to her next party guest.
hold on.
you gulp down a hurried, desperate breath. when was the last time she touched you?
this is when it begins. this is when you start retroactively assigning meaning to each of the million times you can remember her skin coming into contact with yours. you hate her for it. you love her for it. and as you’ll eventually come to terms with in the coming months, its absence is what’ll eventually drive you crazy.
have you ever exhaled into a kiss?
like, your body responds in grateful resignation
as if to say, “fuck. yes. exactly.”
You need to learn how to select your thoughts just the same way you select your clothes every day. This is a power you can cultivate. If you want to control things in your life so bad, work on the mind. That’s the only thing you should be trying to control.
That awkward moment when you’re sitting and chatting with a group of people and your ex says, “That’s why I can’t date girls smarter than me.” hahahahahahahahiknowrightwaitWHATHEFUCKI’MSITTINGRIGHTHERE
