(an impression of a short story about an obsessed girl and a dreamy wet-haired grocery bagger who quits one day overwhelmed by suicidal thoughts)
.
Like any morning I rushed to see you
You were in my brain since 6 o'clock.
My path set to the bathroom stumbling to find the way as I wiped sleep out my eyes and take a long piss occupying my thoughts of your lips.
I toss the rags that hide the moles that kissed my inner thighs and wiggled my toes welcoming the boiling rain of water.
My senses are consumed by you, suddenly getting hynotized by my feminine shape inhaling the scent of my pomergrante body wash and shutting my eyes and visioned you in hazey dream with an inviting curve on your lips and your eyes unable to stop following mine. Your fingers tracing hills along my bare waist, your steady breath soothing in my ear like beach house.
I snap out of my self induced spell memorized by the slippery matter swirling so romantically with the rushing water as they meet their ends in the shower drain.
I wipe the sinful residue off my fingertips and judge my naked body with anything but self-love.
My ocean wavy strands cling on so dearly for their lives on my shoulders as I practice my smile in hopes to find the perfect formula that'll make you irrational and cry in thought of me in the rare event I start beileving I'm too good for you.
I prepare myself for any questions you might ask just in case you might want to slack off unloading boxes and wonder what kind of music I listen to when I'm alone.
How long can I hide my obsessive thoughts? I look at you casually and my brain is on fire, my eyes are screaming them out.
Does my happiness make you happy?
Could you die for me?
Could my bare figure be normal for you in the early mornings and late evenings?
Who else have you drove insane?
Tinted chaptstick, serum, redden cheeks, mascara. I notice you lean toward less paint and expression, but why every time you look at me it's with amnesia like you've just noticed my 22 year long occupation of space on this fucking planet?
lovely, my personality all depends on you,
dear, my favorite film is your favorite film,
babe, my favorite moments is anything with your eyes facing mine
I put on my blue uniform and head off to work.
There you are.
You weren't in any state for smiling. Your movements were fast and clumsy, your voice hesitant and limited, your hair wet and dripping through the aisle floors. You sigh loudly allowing stress to take over your expressions.
I'm not suprised.
Working minimum-wage full-time accompanies thoughts of regret and self-destruction.
My presence was non-existent but a nuisance as you pass by bumping my shoulder and I try to maintain my balence. Your expression changed to something more calming inspired by such rudeness and pleaded forgivness with your eyes gracing my arm with a quick apologetic touch as you muttered a sorry before heading toward the employees break room.
You touched me.
I smiled through my whole shift,
You left for lunch and never came back.
