somewhere on a wednesday

there was a loose string on her sweater. she tugged it free and slowly wrapped it around her finger. around and around. tightly. she watched her fingertip turn purple. released the little thread tourniquet and watched the color spread back to peachy. she did it again.

at least i have blood in my veins, she thought.

earlier, when she was in the shower she noticed that her tears got lost in the gentle spray of water. they were the same tepid temperature. it was like they weren't there at all...so really, what was the point.

when she drives she has the urge to quickly turn the wheel into the center median. she imagines her car cartwheeling down the empty freeway. she wonders if she would lose consciousness immediately or would she feel each flip, each crunch, each break. she imagines it being silent. like the silence that follows fire alarms and gunshots.

she has lost track of time again. she only notices because a stranger asks for the hour.
it is now, she thinks. no wait.....now, it is now. but, no....that was then. she wonders if she could sit in one spot and count each second of the day. then she would be aware of each present moment. announcing it and therefore living in the now. is that how it is done?

the guy at the counter likes her hair, her eyes, her skin. but she thinks he probably only likes her because she isn't his. they always like everything until they have it. such a cruel fact, she thinks. we never want what we have.
she will never have anything so she loves everyone....or is it she will never love anyone so she can have everything? she can never remember which. but she is sure it is the answer.

she walks on the grass. how long has it been the same season? there are eleven birds in one tree. next to the bird tree is the plum tree in full bloom. tiny white flower pompoms that smell of honey. they weren't there yesterday. suddenly and unexpectedly, she laughs. how quietly everything can change. she hopes to be as sneaky as the plum tree.