On the day I was mad at you
I wore a yellow shirt and a white skirt. I had woken up with the sun in my eyes. I hummed as I padded my way down stairs, collecting dust on the souls of my feet. Zoe made me breakfast and put honey in my coffee. I remember pulling the spoon out with gold still clinging to the bottom. How badly I had clung to you, and, in spite of Spring, I still do.
Counting the couples in the room standing in a circle while I suck on the stone around my neck.
I lost a role of film on the bus. I hope that someone gets the film developed and I find the pictures someday on the internet
Michigan makes me very sad.
I will be happy when I no longer need to travel to the places where I once touched you.