late luminescence

photo: yet another sunset in Arcadia, CA

Yesterday in the shower I washed dried cherry juice from under my nails and remembered how at dinner I inspected a heart between my fingers and cut it open with a knife. The blade was red and I tried to press the plump flesh to my lips in hopes it would make me beautiful.

I am a villain of this story, which is really to say I am the writer who is playing all of their characters at once. I am the god, I am the heartbroken and the heartbreaker, I am the sadistic manic who sits quietly in the corner and consults the main character to get the hell over herself.

The water washes away my dramatics, and underneath I am a canvas of bitter pith covered in the crescent indents of a forgotten fury. I am the sister who pretends to sleep when the ants go mad. I am an evil I haven’t met before. Even after the days have gone by, I look at my pink fingertips and swear I can still feel the red.

photo: bedroom in Arcadia, CA

lie down and flex our toes // arms stretching towards an ache, // winding and unspooling at every muscle's whim // time babbling on in the low hum of our silence

I decide I've had enough of playing Angel and scrape limbs up off the carpet to settle down beside you.

lying cheek to chest // hair splayed vaguely beside, behind, and above us // cool air settling on our skin // everywhere // but where we rest against the other

I pinch your gray shirt between my fingers rub the fabric together, and your ribcage depresses.

lain inside a wide expanse of thinly filtered light // through windows onto skin // manufactured memories // brilliantly shadowed playrooms // where we spun while the world // failing to stand still

I roll over so my arms fold beneath my chin that tries to stab your chest, and you smile with your eyes closed.

waiting for the // // tick tock // // second chances? // // when did this become a game? // // pleas(e)?

And then someone makes a noise and you cave into your smile and when you open something breaks or maybe that something is someone and maybe that someone is me. And then you muse aloud that you wish everything could stay the same.

except nothing is // blinking // anymore.

"except nothing," i // curse-(or) // inside.

except nothing // will erase // this moment.

except not // all of // us were meant be mortal.

except // us. //

// // (I liked to dream.)

photo: concrete crack in Arcadia, CA

The game plan: WE ARE GOING TO WRITE EVERY. DAY. Draft a piece every night however I need to, and then "publish" the piece on here the next morning/noon (because you girl isn't a morning person). The pieces are going to be, and I am purposely using crass language here, shitty. The worst thing you've ever read. No expectations. I'm never going to be a freaking writer if I don't write. And for Tanvi and Nelly and all of my friends who have watched Set It Up, I'm essentially clobbering myself with a pillow and declaring that I won't stop eating salsa and chips until I see this through. Lovely. Thank you for staying for my dramatics.

7/22/22 Update: I WILL GIVE MYSELF REWARDS! Reward for one week will be being able to post/story (depending on confidence level) about my favorite piece of the week :))