the sun is bright, but it's cold out. the backpack straps are hard, and they are cutting into my shoulders again. i think the skin on my shoulders is getting resistant and calloused to it. i'm walking quickly, if i only knew what awaited me (rushing into everything, for years to come). and the bulk of the journey passed by as usual, head in the clouds, happy nonsense. i remember looking across the empty field as far as the mostly empty school complex. i remember seeing your car, and stopping. i looked inside, i investigated. you.
then i remember sitting, and getting eyed suspiciously by an old lady who really did know me, and really did know i was not there with impure motivations. but she kept breaking pencil leads, cursing under her breath. then as you were freed, and started down the long long hallway it seemed as if the hallway grew in length as you walked, so as to keep you walking in one static place indefinately.
"i really like that backpack"
and now and then memories like these come floating to the surface, it's a miracle any of them survived really. now you are me; it's your turn to spend saturday night out of sight out of mind and your turn to incinerate the evidence. and what a delicously easy and pleasurable way you've chosen. don't tell me, it'll be too much.
i know the crosses i bear, i bear because i am too hung-up and high strung to drop them. how could you, mere hours away from my being, my essence, succeed where i have failed? which one of us is losing here?
i'm picking up that phone right now, so you won't have anything over me.