I Want What I Don’t Even Want But I Want It
I couldn’t have counted on half these new priorities:
good lighting, the idea of infused water, a friend who can talk to my house plants. Who knew jealousy
would come around so often, so boring. All day looking at photos, wanting shit I know I don’t even want. But also knowing someday,
someone else is going to touch you and my left lung will collapse, or something. It’s the stupidest thing
I’ve ever heard my own brain say. But I still said it. I mean, when I think about my support system now I also count the dishwasher,
dear god. You can turn a lot of caregiving toward a house. Bad, bad jealous logic. Like if I slowly crush
all these bits of mascara, highlighter, motes of pressed powder into the carpet, I know it will truly belong to me. Little competitions.
I’m going to win, me and my one functioning lung, no matter who lives here the longest.