Where I Am

where i am

it is dark, but the grey-orange glow of the city bounces off of the clouds and seeps through the window. i can hear rain, and the occasional whisper of distant thunder or a car’s tires on the street outside. the couch is too hot, but it is soft.

i am the only one. i wish i could bring you here, but you are far away, aren’t you?

smile

in which, simon likes to play a game and make baz smile.

baz

“Smile,” he demands.

I raise an eyebrow at him as he cups my cheek with a hand.

“Come on, Baz. One smile. Please?”

I frown.

“Darling? Dear? Love? Pumpkin? Sweetie pie? Precious?”

I grimace.

“Pretty please? For me?”

I don’t respond. He pouts and reaches for my sides. He’s tried this before. He knows I’m not ticklish.

But he is. Ridiculously so.

I grab him before his hands even reach me and he’s shouting/laughing within seconds. He starts to lean backwards, instinctively trying to get away from me before he realizes there’s nothing there. I catch him before he falls. Like a responsible boyfriend.

And, Crowley, I have to bite my cheek to keep from smiling at this. His face is red and his eyes are watery from laughter and he’s still got a massive grin on his face. He wipes at his eyes and I pull him back onto the couch.

And I know what he’s going to try next. It used to work. He leans forward and  plants a gentle kiss right on my unmoving lips. It makes me feel warm all over, but I don’t let myself respond to it.

He tilts his head back and searches my face. When I don’t budge, he sighs deeply and let his forehead fall onto my shoulder. He’s giving up.

I let one hand find his curls and the other find his waist. I let myself relax. And smile.

Simon tries to lift his head, and I know I can’t get rid of it before he sees. On impulse, I hold him down. He squirms in my grasp.

“You’re smiling!” he accuses.

“No, I’m not.”

He wings start flapping wildly.

“I can hear it in your voice!”

“That’s impossible,” I laugh.

“You’re impossible!”

I let him go and his head whips up. I’m still laughing as he pouts at me.

Eventually though, he smiles too. He pecks me on the cheek.

“I like it when you smile.”

don’t mind me

Don’t mind me Just keep doing what you’re doing Don’t mind me I’m just here to see the view Don’t mind me Just keep living how you’re living and maybe someday I can learn how to live like you do.

Don’t mind me Just keep smiling like you’re smiling Don’t mind me I’m just here to sing these blues Don’t mind me Just keep laughing like you’re laughing and maybe someday I can learn how to laugh like you do

Don’t mind me I’ve a fondness for exploring Don’t mind me Yeah this happens all the time Don’t mind me I just wanna see your beauty I wanna see a soul being kind

after laughs

She takes a deep breath in and immediately regrets it because now she doesn’t know what to do with all this excess air. She can feel it taking up space and swirling around behind her ribs. It makes her feel giddy and confused and completely delirious.

So she laughs.

Only it feels more like sobbing.

And once she’s run out of air for laugh-sobbing, she inevitably takes another breath and is forced to start all over again.

She laugh-sobs until the muscles in her stomach tense so hard they hurt, and her fists curl into themselves like black holes.

She uses up all the air until she isn’t breathing at all.

december 30 2017

Yesterday was a good day. I was really happy. and my heart was fuller than it’s been in half a year.

But last night it was kind of breaking because I know that I won’t be that happy for a while.

and I’m dreading tomorrow

That One Scarf

There is this one particular scarf that follows me across the city.

You probably know the one, you’ve probably seen it,

as many times as I have. I’ve known it for as long as I can remember.

It is cheaply made from felt, soft but easily frayed,

and patterned with plaid, black and white with red veins, on drab beige.

My dad has one, and I don’t know where he got it, where they all get it from,

but I recognise it like a beacon every time I see it wrapped around the neck of another

person in the subway or on the sidewalk.

The wearers vary immensely— not all of them are middle-aged Italian fathers. I’ve seen it on college students, on old women. People young and old are united by this strip of

cloth that loops them together

through time and space.

My eyes follow the scarf when I see it on the street, and it greets be like an old friend, a

reminder of

where I came from

and

how lucky I am to still be here.