Another suitcase in the hall
There are magical moments you think you have waited for when a boy you thought was just a friend and never interested in you shows interest because you do it and its so great because you are already friends but then he says well, wasn’t this singular event fun and see ya, boy you are great. You sit there and rationalize that okay, sure, thats fine because there are other fish to fry. You are wild and unwise and want to be mesmerizing but are apparently forgettable and tossable and he’s just not that into you. Fuck it anyway, turn the page.
Maybe it was just the sport of it. The challenge of it and a way to compare yourself to the others and that you, this boy, are not rejectable. Like a mountain. You fuck it because it is there.
I can close my eyes and forget your face because I have not grown attached to it. I can distract myself with eyeliner, vintage dresses and too much jewelery. I can be like a christmas tree that stays up all year and I can let whomever I want unwrap me like a present, saving the bows and pretty paper to be used again.
But that mystery of why and what are strange to think of. Like hiccups from too much spicy food you have irritated my phrenic nerve and this flash is reflexive. This flare of recognition is complicated and I am young and wild and unwise and forgettable. So forgettable I can forget myself if the timing is right.