i smell like bugspray (and if we’re being honest, there’s probably a hint of sweat mixed in there. i intend to shower directly.) because i was helping a friend with her garden. she’s the only 18 year old person in the entire world with a garden and she’s so damn proud of the thing i feel stupidly honored to be part of its maintenance.

earlier i was at a quaint little café on the edge of town with my mother and was sipping raspberry lemonade when i thought –but wasn’t sure- i heard someone say my name from behind me. i turned, glanced around, saw no one familiar, and faced my mom again. then there was the voice saying my name again, only louder and more familiar. a girl’s.

must say this now or certainly will burst and it will come pouring out my ears and nostrils and belly button at random people in real life.

i was in my car at a red light on the way to the grocery store with a scrap of paper with the list in my right hand, and i was checking and rechecking it for 'peanut butter' because i'm obsessive about my pb and j before work when suddenly i looked up and saw her.

1. To nothing and back

Nothing breathes here, where ice slides off
and disappears. The navy sky does not sing; it is full
of unfocused nothing—the air, weak from only carrying the sound
of ice losing itself while Erosion our mother
hurries everything to its future self.
Nothing is so heavy; ice only knows to shatter itself
and float in pieces under the sag of the blue sky,

there is a girl that reminds me of myself physically, and whom i hate. she’s slightly shorter than i am with considerably lighter hair, much more primped, and she’s got the vaguest, most unintelligent stare about her. i guess we look like identical twins with polar opposite personalities: she’s the girly-looking version of me, and i’m the plain-but-smart version of her.

Artists muse around me. I’m drinking coffee in a cluttered coffee shop; isn’t everyone an artist?