USP - Day 35

USP - Day 35

I wake up because it's garbage day and the truck could compete sonically with a spaceship takeoff. You don't seem to notice, though it's bright and sunny and warm on my mattress. 

I pass the time by looking at your naked back and counting your hair follicles. One for every time I didn't deserve you. One for every time I should've told you that. 

I like you because the bigger word scares me. It chokes me, sticky in my throat, hot on my mind. Or maybe this fondness is borne from something less noble - maybe I only want you because soon you'll be gone, and now that it's close, now that I know that, I can let myself feel things. 

One hair follicle for every time I wrote about someone and they didn't read it. 

One for every time I dated someone who I should've loved but just couldn't.

One for every time I wish I could translate a blasé affair into something I felt once a long time ago, in a dream, or another life. 

USP - Day 36

USP - Day 36

USP - Day 34

USP - Day 34

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