Trapdoor Fucking Exit, Part 2Andrew Mister
* Driving back from SFO drinking coffee, the sky is remote as a ship I would have to cross the ocean to reach. In the airport I thought I recognized a woman from high school but it was only a trick of the fluorescent lighting: up close she was much older than me: a thought stretched too thin to be thought: I will not think of her if she will not think of me. And she won’t she has told me so. It is 7:48 in Oakland. I will never see snow again. I am asleep. At least I’d like to be every waking hour of the day. It is December in Missoula, and my best friend is sick. I cannot think of him if he will not let me. I have told him so. The Dow hit 10,000 today, everyone’s looking for a place to hide. There is a message from her on my machine saying everything will be all right. Yesterday, I picked up the phone and she was surprised that I was awake. It was 1:45 p.m. I asked when she was coming home. She said, “Don’t hold your breath.” My father used to say that all the time. I wish we could watch the stars fall and shatter the rocks along the peninsula. Then it would be summer, and dark. I will never think of them as distant suns again. Tonight I want to be alone with everyone I love Right now I am thinking of them and they are thinking of me, I hope. * Not exactly sure what I’m happy about, but I am. Can’t I just see something without recollecting it later? There are more questions where that one came from but none worth asking. And it’s good to feel happy at times, you tell yourself walking into another day’s white reflecting back from storefront windows, but it’s not about how you feel now, alone, it’s how others feel about you when they’re with you. When I’m with you, I am lost and it’s good to feel lost I tell myself, walking past Noah’s past Albertson’s past Long’s to Lake Merritt which doesn’t smell that bad today because it’s cold. I want the lake to flood the streets, but the engineers won’t let that happen. And I thought that I never wanted to see snow again, but it’s all right to feel sinister, walking around high and square, floating really through another weekend. I am not “you and I” anymore but I will still try to sing about it even if you won’t sing with me la la la is only a sound wind drives a winter rain that I hope to never see again.
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