4gveme

The shoes with feet inside beat the plastic road, the rollers underneath stretch and bend to absorb the weight of the runner laboring above. The sweat laces her face, she licks it and salt coats the inside of the mouth of the girl. A mirror in front of her shows her face, red and hot looking. Her thighs are jiggling with the momentum.



What are you doing now? Wondering while running. A good way to let time slip past and before she knows it it’s been fifteen minutes and there goes the cake she ate after lunch. Her music is motivational and fast and she sprints to it, feels invincible and the beat thumps her ears, fills her legs with energy and she turns up the power and the speed.



Thinking about you is time consuming, she does it a lot. Thinks about his face, thinks about the things he says, wonders why she wasn’t nicer when she was younger. Wonders why she finds it hard to control herself. Hopes that one day she’ll be the kind of person people like to hang around, the kind of girl that people aren’t weirded out by, or intimidated by, or freaked out by. She imagines that after she leaves rooms that people exhale hardly-guarded sighs of relief.

‘Ah, thank god. She’s gone. Now we can talk normally.’

She wonders why, that is, if she knows she does these self-sabotaging things, she doesn’t cease the behavior and be ‘normal’ and well-liked.



She loves him, she really does. It feels like she’s sixteen when she talks to him. She blushes and frets and worries over what to say. It makes things hard. He doesn’t like the conversations. She calls him only to have him tell her he’ll call her back, and she waits and he doesn’t. She suspects that he doesn’t have time for her any more. Once he did. Once he loved her fiercely and she didn’t care. She couldn’t have cared less. She was a selfish, horrible girl. She was cruel to him, and treated him terribly. She was a nasty person, and terribly concerned with things of some plausible value in the (very) (immediate) near future, but very little value for any longer period of time.



As a result she had a couple of years of very chaotic and hectic (unfulfilled) development before the haze cleared, the party ended and she saw through the ruin to the people that had really been of value. Surprisingly, it wasn’t the people with very little time for her and no real emotional value or the ones with all the fancy trappings and no integrity, who were there to hold her and place kisses on tender limbs. It was the ones sick of being let down and sick of valueless promises that were still there.



Alas no longer. People will only sit by for so long, and those that have great love will sit longer. Those that are still there, waiting for you to change might be great loves, or simply great fools. Whatever they are you are lucky to have them. Know this - no one sits forever. Would you? I shouldn’t think so. But there must be something to your love. Your heart is full of love, though spent unwisely, so far. Spend with some head and heart now on. If past love proves un-healable, then cry, but not for too long.



What fell thing was this to have such a gift and throw it down for some other cheap passing craze?

What heart break felt thin on paper skin bore no hallmarks of past pains? Was felt from Monaco on verandahs by thousands and gifted to no-one. You touched the hand of god and smote no-one. Showing the back to those that needed you most, you fell a peculiar ghost. Tickle me you gilded feather bits of heated wooden boxes fall like chips at your feel. Flying like dustmen and skipping the airwaves your dulcet tones soothe millions and I wish only for the touch of your hand, on my heart, with no intention. I just want you to forgive me, I just want you to forgive me.

We’d marry in Vegas, dressed like Jedi knights, full of drink and love and hearts ablaze with trinkety ideas like kids and houses. You’d look at me, and I’d smile so hard my mouth and face would hurt and I’d look into your eyes and you’d smile (you already were, but you’ll do it harder). Your shirt’s blue and green and stripey, we’re not dressed up, we don’t care, and this is an idea that brought us here. My dress is purple or something like that; I’m wearing flat shoes, probably sandals. My hair is down, loose and wild, and yours is gorgeous and perfectly styled (it always is).



The guy at the front who’s marrying us tells us to kiss and we do and it’s so good. Your tongue is in my mouth for a second, and I know that once we get back to the hotel room that we’re going to be doing some serious consecrating. We grab hands once we sign the marriage certificate, I’m taking on your name, so now I’m yours. I always was, I always have been, but now we are the one clan. Let’s be together forever, because I love you.