He hit me in the face, but look at how bad he felt about it.
Back to 35mm film.Read More
Bruises on my legs from the lock hinges on the tailgate. Do I even need those? Deep purple, green, and yellow, symmetrical on each thigh. I still lock the windows when I sleep. I awake to wet skin and slick glass; is it sweat or condensation? Or is the condensation my sweat? I’m in a place that I used to think existed only in my head, as though it needed validation by another who had connections to my other world. Sitting in a basement classroom, philosophy taught us what we already knew, that the world is just our perception of it and truth is just enough people agreeing with you. Muddy waters. I wonder if that basement flooded during Katrina. It’s hot and I’m alone, but I’m not alone because the dog is pulling me on the leash. Nobody stops to pet him here. I feel like they’re giving us a wide berth. Are they, or am I projecting? There’s no one here to say otherwise. I walk behind my old dorm to look up at the window I used to imagine flinging myself out of and there’s a girl crying on the sidewalk below it. I take her picture because it feels significant.