storms

she buries her head into her hands. everyone else around us drinks beer and eats meat. this is as close to crying as she gets. if the tears fall, it's ok, i'm used to it by now.

enough of this shit. "i think i'm done listening to you," i say. but that's a lie. i'll listen until i go deaf, which will be never; i'm always hearing what she has to say.

we go up and down like a seismograph. one second i want to scowl at her and stand up, walking off with two fingers up. then i take a sip and all i want is for a smile, just give me that.

everyone is miserable. L sits with me on the porch, sunny day, soft clouds over the tasman, saying "i just don't know what i want." B walks up kingsland at midnight, telling me no one here does anything but shag randomly. not as a brag, more forlorn than anything.

what the hell is it going to take to get away from all of this? i've gone to every corner of the world to try and find something different. maybe time is the only axis that counts, not distance.

let's all go back to when we didn't know any better.