today becomes tomorrow

1. spring here feels like summer. my shoulders are sunburned from reading granta on the patio yesterday morning. in the afternoon, i made a screen to filter out some of the light, one hundred squares of rainbow tissue paper pasted together like a quilt.

2. talking to her, hours on the phone, i said things i haven’t been saying out loud. maybe they shouldn’t have been said at all, but i’m tired of the way they simmer behind all my other thoughts. she’s maybe the only one who could understand– what i feel, and why i won’t do anything about it.

3. i want boxes of herbs and flowers, i want a small table with a candle, i want a pitcher of lemonade. i want to go to the pool but i don’t want anyone to ask me questions about my scars.

4. i miss you. it’s been over two months. i wish you’d write.

5. i got a letter last night. i was lying on the cement staring at the stars, wondering if you were awake to see them. you thought about how the ink would sink into that paper, how that paper would feel between my fingers. you’ve always meant more than i’ve told you, and maybe i never explained why. maybe i should.

5. classes start in less than a month.

6. i ache for company. i started talking to the neighbors. upstairs to the right are military boys, they just got back from qatar. we talked microbreweries versus mexican beer, relationships falling apart in the middle of war, and vintage cars. i made one of them a smoothie to soothe his new tongue piercings. across from me, there’s a little boy we nicknamed short stack. he’s eight, nicknamed our roommmate ‘hot sauce’, and does beyonce knowles impressions. i sat on the sidewalk and painted rocks with him for an afternoon. the military boys were out, showing off swords they got overseas, and i asked him if art supplies were better than weapons. he said yes, and i smiled for a long time.

7. i don’t smile enough, but i think that’s changing. it has to.

8. no response, but i’m not sure i expected one. there are photographs. i’m figuring out who to have them left with. people told me i should’ve thrown them away or burned them, that any kindness, even any civility, is useless. for awhile, i listened to them- but i put the pictures in a padded envelope, kept them safe. his face, and not mine. they’re sitting in that city, waiting for me to know how they should be returned.