if someone were to follow me home, i hope they’d like what they found, at the very least. and maybe, just maybe, i could unclench their tight fists, could soften their bitter ways, for just a moment, because isn’t that what i’m supposed to do?

talk you down with my sugar-spun adjectives and verbs, on magical occasions such as these, where the sun glows bright in our eyes, and blinds us to uncertainty, and i just start laughing when it shatters, because it’s all so fucking funny.

just these little chemical impulses in my brain. which is a chunk of matter i’ve convinced myself i control, as we spin around and around in circles on this space rock we call home, which is in a galaxy, which is in a universe, and i’m so fucking infinitesimal that none of it matters in the end, not really–

and yet i still see my life flash before my eyes, every time you forget to shower me in a constant stream of validation and courtesy. i’m like a needy little kid, because maybe i never stopped being one.

just learned to stuff my childhood in a jar, and keep it on a shelf. maybe i’ll put a little dash of it in this story, or that poem, who knows–take a pinch of powdered nostalgia with my tea. is that normal? is it really?

is it okay to compare your brain to a half-dead charging cable that still works in a pinch, you just have to move it around a bit, but i can’t fucking stand the idea of falling behind. of being second-best.

and i’m trying to look for the silver lining here. i’m getting pretty good at it–shifting the lightning, and wracking my mind for a pretty turn of phrase. but i’ve got nothing today.