she told me to do it.
October 20, 2011 § 1 Comment
Sometimes I think of all of the different ways a person can die and it becomes a game in my head, like what if you leaned out of a twelve-story building to see all of the little people on the sidewalk below you and you see someone with a Santa hat on and you lean more so that you can see better (after all it is October; people don’t just wear Santa hats out in public quite yet) but you lose your grip and fall and all you can concentrate on is the loss of feeling in your fingertips from the cold air.
When I fell asleep on my bed the other night I was still fully clothed. The last things I thought about were that the elastic on my socks was pinching my ankles and that you find me funny sometimes. I am generally not a funny person but I am a nice one, just so you know. The bed bobbed under me like the time I read Elizabeth McCracken on the pier and watched the father and son pull starfish from the ocean, my pockets full of honey sticks and chrysanthemum petals. I think that I might have thought about you then but I didn’t know you then so maybe I am just being silly now.
Sometimes I fall off the pier. Sometimes you wear Santa hats.