She stared at the ceiling. You
watched her do it and you
remembered the way her face had looked when you
flew halfway across the country. You
had watched her stare out the pillbox windows; you
had noticed how the neighborhoods looked like spinal cords; you
had fallen asleep with her head on your shoulder. You
copied poems into red notebooks. (You
hate college-ruled.) And when you
awoke to the outside world you
found unremembered ink stains blotting your fingers black. You
always wanted to be a New Yorker. You
(in someone else's words) were a homegrown coward. You
pretended Boston's city lights were New York's. You
wrote yourself in third person. You.
watched her do it and you
remembered the way her face had looked when you
flew halfway across the country. You
had watched her stare out the pillbox windows; you
had noticed how the neighborhoods looked like spinal cords; you
had fallen asleep with her head on your shoulder. You
copied poems into red notebooks. (You
hate college-ruled.) And when you
awoke to the outside world you
found unremembered ink stains blotting your fingers black. You
always wanted to be a New Yorker. You
(in someone else's words) were a homegrown coward. You
pretended Boston's city lights were New York's. You
wrote yourself in third person. You.
This piece has been published in Teen Ink’s monthly print magazine.
lola.loves.stars
Jilybeanrb
Join the Discussion
This article has 2 comments. Post your own!