I Finished My Junior Year and All I Got Was This

  1. he says he’s allergic to grass but meets me in dolores anyways to smoke a bowl or two. she brings artisanal beer i always forget the name of, it has a drawing of a cat on the bottle. it looks sort of like a beatnik but that’s not why she drinks it. she doesn’t know who the beats are. i don’t think she reads. she shows me her new “glass”, another bubbler because her mom keeps throwing them out. she wants la croix but he only has water. i want to tell them it doesn’t matter but all i do is sit in observation. a quiet poet lost in my own thoughts. musings from another world.                                         
  2. he karate chops $300 bongs in the dark because he felt the timing of the music was perfect, believes that “harry potter magic” is real after running into oliver again at the end of the street. he believes in time turners, not god. surfing, not school. he’s the type of person who accidentally leaves his cat trapped in the closet for a week while his mother is on a business trip, blaming her as the cat gently dies in his arms. he has a new iphone every month, he can never sync contacts. we sit watching the cotton candy clouds in the middle of november as the lights glimmer from across the water. the sun projects over all the buildings. suburban houses, industrial establishments. my lips not quite on his, he tells me how he got kicked out of middle school for selling cocaine. i’ve heard it all before but it’s at times like these he starts to miss new york. fuck go pros and palm trees. we put our heads together on the grass, forgetting she’s even there.                                                                                       
  3. i tell her not to buy food from the burger place uptop but she doesn’t listen to me as we sit in the alleyway with a take-out box filled to the rim with stale, greasy fries. we pet stray cats, listen to sonic youth, wait for storms to pass. it was always raining back then. we were never prepared, at least you never are. your battery percentage is consistently at nineteen, you try to pay for your first pipe in quarters. it was forest green. we pose in photo booths downtown, carry an empty box of peppermint bark from christmas circa 2014, wake and bake in golden gate park in front of the fish place. we telepathically wore mustard sweaters at the same time. i never knew the place we took photos in was a grave.                                                                                 
  4. i remember a hidden place only you, julian, and i knew about, some cliff above a stream. when i wore glittery red antlers on the last day before winter break with a matching plaid skirt and he told me i looked cute and festive with his adorable smile as we waited in the starbucks line. he told me he only drinks mochas before exams, i think i got a white chocolate or was it a latte? i still have a family photo of him, me, and ella, his dog he always brought to school. we only listened to alex turner in the gentle wind. dreams of living on a submarine and playing cards to pass the time. lighthouses glowing in the distance. someone tells us that we look like an awkwardly dating couple. you reply that we are.                                                                           
  5. your mom made you move to nevada city which is still in california for some odd reason. people are always naming things wrong. he asks me where you are but nobody else seems to notice. i start to miss the skateboards made out wooden planks, hikes up twin peaks, and evolution strawberry lemonade. it turns into neutral milk hotel, lonely bus rides in the rain through the woods, deleting social media. he tells me he’s coming to watch my short film tonight. he liked it a lot. all i do is sleep early and drink black coffee.                                                                                                           
  6. i go to diners alone and order cherry pie. waiting, always waiting for school to end along with the forced conversations. i feel like i’m simply passing through life, floating by without a sound. therapy every wednesday at four pm sharp. i always forget which floor to get off on. magnus took the same train there but we never spoke. it’s awkward when you think it’s too late to talk to someone. i learned you should never confine yourself to one person, one place, one specific time. tomorrow will be the complete opposite of today.


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