who knows.

the room had four plush, dark purple couches 
and a revolving door that kept moving without any people going through it.  you know the kind. 
we were seated across from each other, which is a rather vulnerable position if you don't like being looked at in the eyes for too long. 

things had taken place we didn't feel like putting the right words to yet. 
we were alone, the doors hummed like tiny airplanes in flight.
if you do not know what these sound like go under the water in a bath and hum with your lips.

he crossed his legs handsomely.
"you do this because you think you have to."
i hoped my voice belonged to me.
"i don't think anything."
"not you, just your brains."
there was a pause.
"my brains are a train track, we're leaving." he looked for a bellhop. 
"and where does it end?"
"you should tell me, probably." 
he chuckled, a small wave crashing, making fun of the people that swim.
"what do you write about?" he wouldn't take his eyes off of me.
"i don't write, i stand in the rain."
"maybe it sounds like the drops."
"i hope sometimes there's thunder."
we talked about thunder, we talked about old lovers.
i lied to him several times.
he lied back.
the door kept revolving, swinging mirrors & his eyes big like question marks.
i never saw him again.


Ned Buskirk said...

purple couches. blue chests. yuss.

rollerfink said...

there is thunder.

DJ Berndt said...

'i don't write, i stand in the rain.'

That line really caught my eye. You have very talented, I like your style.

KERRY said...

you are all absolutely magnificent. thank you.