LatchkeyGirl

it's not the preparation or the base we'll be calling home that shrieks in my head like chased prey but the sound of trees dropping fruit and losing leaves. what a scream. nothing's perfect, but what could be worse than this? my old man, the old man, not wise, or grown, just old. no kind words any more for me, the seeds you sowed between us grow strong in the hot black sun. I won't live like you have, a youthful buck on the side of the road for months, rotting. atrophy's your middle name, right? but promptness is ours and it will take less than 48 hours all told for me to disappear from your life, even if I crawl away, plucking pins and need

That's good, that's good, it's all good, it's fine. You know best, you've always known best. When it's quiet I can't sleep. I throw the covers off and turn on the TV. It's hard to close my eyes with all the quiet breathing on me in the dark. When you are coming to a truth the universe fights you on it the whole world says your truth is a lie and weak people fall down in piles of arms and legs. A reliable let down. Twelve hours in a haze. I feel absolutely nothing. All the pulled triggers are there, guilt, loneliness, fear, sadness, but the barrels are empty.

All the ways in which we're learning one another - our fingers fit so well, our manners match our make. Your patience, while I pull faces; your smile, when I am graceless. I won't pin the word to it til it's good and ready, but you must admit, this is a beautiful picture we're painting. The weekend in the future is the jet fuel that propels me, pulls me further into you. I'm scared you'll tear my heart right from my chest, when the time comes, in the if-and-when of us, but I'm more scared of not letting you - 'cause it's one of those things you have to skin your knees on before you get it right. I want to share all my band-ai