Booths

(canwemakespoons)

I feel so scared I could throw up or burst into tears. I feel like doing both but it's one am and I know that I won't do either. I can't sleep. Or I distract myself from sleep so that I don't have to deal with the dreams. They run out of me like water but run through my fingers like sand. I told you that this writing thing was shit but I still won't give it up. I'm trying to figure out how to say everything without saying anything so I'm going silent for a year and moving to a candy city built from tic tacs to get away from the days that are swallowing me whole. I clear out tomorrow and I'm going to stop sending you letters but don't take it personally. I've got a problem with this town. It's rotting my teeth, making my hands arthritic. And I keep wondering why I'm sitting in this restaurant, with velvet red plastic sticking to my skin, spending hours crumpling acid bleached napkins, and ordering something that I don't want when I have to pay for it. I keep wondering why I don't just stand up and leave.