8.30.1998 (part 2)
There’s always one you say I love you to but you cannot love because they make you suffer, and the more you love them the more you suffer. And you know you’re not easy to love by any means. The red sky and screwdrivers settled the tension in my head. Can you blame the vodka for the first kiss that started it all? Spin the rack and pick your poison. Early autumn air tickles the throat and we share a hot shower on a winter night, candlelight. Here I am again. How? Why? Cea Cita sits by the bathroom door in cobra watching the curtain ripple, jabbed by elbows, and the auburn dye is bleeding off my head and into the drain as you hit me with the sponge. Tonight you will leave the party with an old acquaintance of mine and I will have to wonder why, of all the people in the world I had to run into randomly, that fateful night in Wicker Park, when I was so wonderfully disciplined in avoidance, it was you. I could not resist the euphoria. The dangerous way our blood spiked in contact. It surprised me as much as you. Your eyes were so wide. What was I to do, say hello and goodbye? In the intoxication of a Chicago night in July? Maybe it’s time to change the locks. Take the silver key you gave me put it in an envelope and slide it under your door.by #katyamills
