You don’t need to buy me expensive things or take me out to dinner every night or even every weekend. I don’t need the world or want the world. I want the little things. If you push my hair out of face or rub my back. Or if you randomly kiss my cheek. Or text me randomly saying you miss me. Or if you make a tweet about me or post a picture of us. Then that’s all I care about. I want the little things. I care way more about that, than anything else.
Paying the trash bill late so I can buy weed because getting high and laughing at stupid tv shows or listening to music on my headphones in a dark room is literally the only thing calming me enough not to kill myself the past few weeks.
I wish that we could talk about it, But there, that’s the problem. With someone new I couldn’t start it, Too late, for beginnings. The little things that made me nervous, Are gone, in a moment. I miss the way we used to argue, Locked, in your basement.
I wake up and the phone is ringing, Surprised, as it’s early. And that should be the perfect warning, That something’s, a problem. To tell the truth I saw it coming, The way, you were breathing. But nothing can prepare you for it, The voice, on the other, end.
The worst is all the lovely weather, I’m stunned, it’s not raining. The coffee isn’t even bitter, Because, what’s the difference? There’s all the work that needs to be done, It’s late, for revision. There’s all the time and all the planning, And songs, to be finished.
There needs to be a code word or something that means “my brain is fighting me every step of the way today and I feel like I’m going to vibrate out of my skin, so I need you to forgive everything and go slowly and speak softly and lower your expectations.” And then we could all just be like, “I know I said we could go to a movie tonight but… tangerines.” And the other person would nod and squeeze your elbow or rub your head and you wouldn’t feel like a failure.