I started crying because I remembered her smelly socks.
I was trying to gauge whether a pair of Star Wars™ socks were still good to wear. It made me remember her smelly socks she’d wear a few days in a row sometimes, and how I’d jokingly give her a hard time.
“STOP SMELLING ME!” she’d say, as I lean over to the right side of the bed. She thought it was weird or degrading. I was just being goofy.
Now i’m remembering it all, everything I saw from the left side of the bed: her half smile when we’d talk about random life things…the way her nose would crinkle when she had an itch on it…I’m supposed to go out with my Uncle tonight, and now I’m just wanting to curl up in a heap of emotions of this mausoleum of an apartment. It’s filled with these memories, these memories I willingly put an end to. What’s wrong with me? Why did I feel the need to banish myself to this island. Sure, I’ve started projects I probably wouldn’t ever have, but is it worth this?
I don’t sleep on the right side of the bed. That spot is sacred, god dammit!
I’ve got to send her a message from this island. A bottle will float.
I hope it finds her, that she reads it knowingly and understandingly.
That she allows me to float back to her.
I don’t sleep on the right side of the bed. That spot is sacred, god dammit!
I want to float back to her, the current has died down. The sea is calm.
I hope she allows me to float back to her.
I can’t even sleep on the left.
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