It doesn’t matter what I think or feel
There will be no grand revelation
No rom-com baring of the soul in the rain
I’ve been in that car before, felt that endorphin rush
And it hurt too much in the long run
But I must acknowledge the gravity you exert
I’ve reshaped my brain a bit for you
Changed habits to stay in your orbit
Spoken when I would be silent
Eaten when I was not hungry
Made friends because they are your friends
And in a world that doesn’t exist
Where we are not who and where we are
I would ask a question
And you already told me your answer
Which makes it easier
Strangely
Seeing this other, maybe happier life I am not leading
Doesn’t hurt the way it used to
I never thought it would be this easy
To say ‘I love you’ in the dark to a memory
Knowing it won’t be said back
Not that way
Maybe this is becoming a grown up
Accepting the things you cannot change
Like that stupid cross-stitched prayer
That stared at me from childhood’s dining room wall
The Lord, it seems, has finally seen fit to grant me
The chill grey blessing of serenity
Though He’s yet to make good
On the courage and wisdom

In retrospect, buying the bulk pack of peaches to eat at work was a mistake. Fresh peaches are the barbecue ribs of the fruit world. There’s no way to eat a good one properly and cleanly at the same time. They’re an embarrassing food to eat in the company of others, unless they’re making a mess right alongside you. Sure, you could take a knife and delicately carve the peach away from the stone, and then slice it up into chunks, but that’s like the guy who delicately lifts a pork rib by the bone, shaves away the meat with a knife and then forks it into their mouth. Nobody likes that guy. That guy’s an asshole who should’ve just bought a burger or something. So there’s nothing for it but to take a big bite, and let the juice squirt everywhere and drip all over the chin. It’s only in this moment that the comparison to a vagina seems vaguely apt. A coworker looks over and grins at the mess you’re making. “How you liking that peach?” You nod and smirk around your mouthful of peach flesh and mumble “Erm!” but inside you’re thinking “Fuck you. Smug son of a bitch.” You realized too late as peach juice drips onto the table that you didn’t prep a napkin. You can’t put the peach down, though, that’ll just compound the mess you’ll have to clean up. You walk over to the breakroom sink, half-eaten peach in one hand, the other raised up, trying to not touch anything, like a surgeon prepping for the operating room. You hover over the sink, finishing the peach, then do your best to turn the water on with your wrists and elbows. There are five peaches left. Next time, maybe you’ll stick to bananas.

There's nothing for me to do except eat, work, sleep, take a walk, watch a movie, play a game, read a book, write a book, clean my house, clean my clothes, clean myself, practice an instrument, ride a train, rent a car, call a friend, call my family, compose my will, compose a song, listen to music, brush my teeth, start a new job, start a new life, fall in love, break my heart, break my arm, take a class, take a taxi, take my medicine, buy a toy, buy a tool, build some furniture, learn to knit, learn to love again, make a scarf, make dinner, stare at the internet, stare at strangers, pet a dog, feed a pet, go birdwatching, go home, go out, have an argument, have a drink, have an orgasm, talk to strangers, offer candy to children, tell someone they're an asshole, tell someone they're beautiful, run away, then run back, get in shape, get in bed, get a clue, collect evidence, form a hypothesis, run an experiment, solve a mystery, join a secret society, join two people in wedded bliss, jump up and down, yell at someone, see what's on the second floor, see what's on the other side, pick a side, pick my nose, pick my poison, pay the piper, prevaricate, procrastinate, ponder. There's nothing else.