dinner

tell me about you.

i have made a lot of mistakes but i am still perfect. i work a little, am paid a little less, i am worth millions. not dollars, memories, moments where you tell someone else they are not that other person, where there is enough drink and no hangover. where there is all the food to eat and then it is shared with those who do not have it all. where yes all things go but that meant they moved before – to try and not, to become and wilt, to see what it meant to mean something to something, and to know the irony in rusted specifics. to drop out of school after graduation. to climb to a mountain by being in the caverns below. to know that it is a dog eat dog world, even if i am a cat, tail curled to its own earth. i am earth. i am a universe. i am all of them – yours too, beautiful and big, bustling and busted. i am the emptiness after this, where i do not come over, i do not kiss your body, i do not play the secrets of touch in a language older than language. i am the words of an excuse and i am the admitting it meant nothing at all.

he didn’t tell me much about himself, anyways.