apricot milk

. . . like apples of gold in pictures of silver — memory, etc.

Month: June, 2013

“i am your plaything.”

the weather can’t decide what to be. i leave the ceiling fan on at night and the hum moves the still cold air around the room. then in a few hours the sun comes and touches my eyelids. i feel in a strange heavy in between place, just waiting for grad school to be over and hoping my motivation will eventually come back. it’s not sad at all (i am generally happy), but sometimes it is. i think that i should probably be meeting and talking to new people, but i just can’t stop feeling tired long enough to really care. 

i suppose that my apathetic state might have something to do with the way i feel treated by you, too. it’s easy to pull myself down to the phrase “i won’t find someone” and i’m supposed to avoid that kind of thinking but i can’t help it. our society cultivates the idea of love being the one thing a young woman should pursue and then shames her for pursuing it. and, it’s not my fault that you can’t grow up and say what you mean the first time. you’re always revising. saying things like “you’ll be seeing more of me and i want to be a part of your life” but you know, since day one your honesty had a falseness i chose to ignore. i hardly see proof of the words you string together. thesis: you only want sex. then is it my fault for not growing up and admitting it? admitting that i’d like to have one person fuck me, cook pasta with me, share a forest on the coastline with me. because i’m 25 years old and time doesn’t ever slow down. people in my family say “you have all the time in the world” but i’ve learned that’s one of the the worst things you could ever think.

what’s funny is i really like you, but not all that much because i know you’re ultimately going to be wrong for me, and leave for another country someday. because your “several girls” mean we hardly talk. you probably treat them like shit, too. so can i enjoy this while it lasts?

i just have to have the preference (not strength) for you to be my occasional plaything and nothing else, as you said when we were both fully clothed and dark on my bed, placed one on top of the other. 

you tell me you like to be used. somehow, it only makes me feel sorry for you.


running or something.

lately, i’ve been trying to go on more evening runs. i bought black and pink nikes that fit just snugly, and i always wear the same striped top and blue shorts. although i sometimes i feel my skin is reflective enough when passing car headlights shine on my legs. mostly, i prefer to be alone with the wind and nothing but roughly 30 minute route on my mind. there’s nothing else but the road in front of me–is that a cat? there’s those people with their dogs again. i like it because hardly anyone is out. usually the train rumbles, and i can spy a small airplane against the purple sky.

i guess the reason i started running is because i want to feel better. maybe just better about the things i can do–if i can add this one thing into my life that makes me get up and move, than that will be an accomplishment. it’s great to get in shape and become a little stronger, but i guess the other reason, the biggest one is for my mental health. i mean, running won’t permanently solve anything, but it makes me feel this good collapsing kind of soreness afterward. and you can get into this kind of rhythm. my cousin taught me that sprinting is not what you do, but act like you’re almost walk-bouncing. and you can go and go without stopping–listen to your body and its balances. it forces you to know your self, the way you move and what hurts. then when you get home, you can breathe, drink a giant glass of water, strip the grossness from your skin into a softer t-shirt. maybe sleep more deeply, which i have always struggled with in life.

i would only recommend it to someone if they think it might make them happy. sometimes i look at the hot girls running in the sunshine with their goldybrown tans and i’m just–that’s not me. i’m a nearly transparent creature of the night. that could be you and there’s nothing wrong with being that. my cousins who did cross-country until their legs became a stress-fractured mess used to tell me “your life could have been so different!” if i had just done track in high school when the coach noticed how fast i could sprint. but you know what, i’m alright with my choice. it’s better to make that choice to move when the time is right.