Britney

There is a new fly in my room. It bites my face and my neck when I sleep and when I wake up the skin is raised and tinted crimson. It is silent until it is so close to my ear that I think it will graze me and I shudder.

I’m In Your Mind Fuzz plays. I think about a boy in one of my classes who dresses exactly like Mac DeMarco and has sleepy eyes and rosy cheeks. I don’t have a crush on him but I admire him greatly. Sometimes I can’t believe that he’s real. I like feeling this strongly about other people because it reminds me that I am capable of love.

Does the fact that I have to remind myself of this inherently denote something negative? I don’t think it should. I’ve been through so much that it comes as a surprise that I am even functioning.

But I remember human contact with the fuzziness of recollecting a past life. I yearn for a partner. I need a partner, need a partner, need a partner. Doing things in threes makes good things happen. The universe likes things in threes. I’d like to ask why.

I lean out of the window and blow a kiss to the person I have yet to meet. “I can’t wait until you find me,” I say in my best voice, “or until I find you.” ♦