first time waking up in the morning in i don’t even know how long and it feels good, like i have a secret, and it’s still dim in my room and i’m still in my pajamas and i don’t have to be out for another three hours
A work in progress, possibly a seed for something bigger
She quivers and pops like a bead of water in a hot pan.
He cannot contain himself, his energies pouring forth without restraint.
She stops talking and wonders about the missing tiles, stacks of fingerprints, rugs of moth wings. How soft they feel under her feet…
He tells her tales of teenage adventures, mishaps and conquests, run-ins with the law.
She listens and learns, knitting together an idea of him inside her mind, a colorful spectacle, to store and ponder on in solitude.
He sees the whole story in his mind—beginning, middle, and end—and his delivery is deliberately paced, building suspense and teasing.
She asks question after question at each dramatic pause. He is patient, she is not. Frustrated, she quivers and tries to hide.