did i ever tell you that i think your eyes look like chocolate that's been under the sun much too long? did i ever tell you that they made me hungry? i'm glad i didn't. because if i looked into them now, they'd remind me of the shit that you told me straight to my glass face while my porcelain heart was wide open on a table.

it took me a couple of hours to realize that the only reason we have memories is because things change. i remember the times you kissed my fingernails. and stroked my abdomen with a washcloth. and licked my cotton nose the moment the moon came up. and touched your fingertips to my eyelids to make them close. so i guess if i remember all that, i've changed. you've changed. we've changed. give us some air.

sunday is the latin word for "we'dspendthisdayeveryweektogetherandnowit'sfuckedup" and the sun would always magically light up like your eyes when you used to look at me in the dark. i remember the pillowcases you rested your head on and i remember that i still have them. i remember the penny i found while dancing in the street with you and it was tails up. i remember how i pressed my cheek against each fragile footprint you'd leave behind in the dirt outside my house.

but what i don't remember is your enormous ego that could cover this whole town and how i was one of four you'd been sleeping with all summer and the way you'd lie, lie, lie and tell me forever when you knew that would never come because the clock was still spinning in thisisnevergonnahappens.