Loosing

I have a nervous stomach ache.

There is a parcel in the corner of my room with a card that I have yet to fill out. What would it say? "I feel you slipping away from me, Merry Christmas," or maybe, "I know you'll be gone soon, Hope all of your holiday wishes come true."

I wish I could take my intuition and drown it in the Merrimack. I wish I could pretend that I didn't notice this feigning interest. I'm all twisted in a knot. Why have I allowed myself to feel this way about someone? I am ruthless...I am notorious...I am about to have my ass handed to me in my own game (I think).

If I was 16 and on the train, I would be loosing at a staring contest with my reflection in the window. If I was 17, I'd been sitting on my hands in the passenger seat of a green Ford Torus. If I was 18, I would be in the cold in a basement, waiting to be noticed.

I'm 19, and I'm walking up a hill, and its cold outside, I'm shivering and thinking about how I would go to the end of the earth for you. I climb up the stairs, I'm out of breath. I knock, Paul opens the door. I go inside.

You are sitting at your computer with a word document open. I throw my backpack down on your bed, and you turn around and smile at me...

You haven't the slightest clue how I got there.