You came an hour too late, but I've been waiting for a year. I'm angry at you now but the tears have already dried. My stockings have runs all up and down my legs, and my shirt looks like its been torn off but I've forgotten what I was looking for. I look at many mirrors, my reflection on the train, "She's aging, she's aging." they all say again and again.
The car breaks down and my father has a coughing jag; I laugh while blinking away the tears and try not to think about the future. I've already undone my dress, my bra is on the floor, "We'll see what happens tomorrow." he says and he puts his shirt back over his head. I forget. My foot slams hard on the break, erected nipples pierce through my shirt, pupils dilate, skinny waist. She’s shivering in her boots; the bitch should’ve worn more clothes. Fuck, you came an hour too late; I’ve been waiting for two years. My head hurts and the dog is scratching on the door again, “Let him in.” I say, but no one is listening. I go to sleep. I worked overtime today and skipped my lunch break. I’m sorry I didn’t mean to lie to you and make you worry, I just wanted you to know I had prepared my appetite for tonight’s dinner. Stop breathing so heavily it sends shivers down my spine. I like you a lot but you came too late, I can’t be angry at you but maybe I should be angry at myself. Maybe if you were a little open to change then things might be different, but you’re not stubborn, I can see that. “Why were you an hour late?” you ask me with a concerned look upon your face, “But I wasn’t,” I say but you’ve already looked away by then winking at some other girl across the room as she giggles and parts her perfectly straight face.
The car breaks down and my father has a coughing jag; I laugh while blinking away the tears and try not to think about the future. I've already undone my dress, my bra is on the floor, "We'll see what happens tomorrow." he says and he puts his shirt back over his head. I forget. My foot slams hard on the break, erected nipples pierce through my shirt, pupils dilate, skinny waist. She’s shivering in her boots; the bitch should’ve worn more clothes. Fuck, you came an hour too late; I’ve been waiting for two years. My head hurts and the dog is scratching on the door again, “Let him in.” I say, but no one is listening. I go to sleep. I worked overtime today and skipped my lunch break. I’m sorry I didn’t mean to lie to you and make you worry, I just wanted you to know I had prepared my appetite for tonight’s dinner. Stop breathing so heavily it sends shivers down my spine. I like you a lot but you came too late, I can’t be angry at you but maybe I should be angry at myself. Maybe if you were a little open to change then things might be different, but you’re not stubborn, I can see that. “Why were you an hour late?” you ask me with a concerned look upon your face, “But I wasn’t,” I say but you’ve already looked away by then winking at some other girl across the room as she giggles and parts her perfectly straight face.
You ask me if I want to slow down a bit, of course I reply “No.” and I memorize every common stroke and the sensations of hearing your beating heart. The muscles they caress me and retain all the heat, you left a while ago and still haven’t called. I’m tired now, but I know it's better not to wait, it's unfortunate that time hasn’t been wasted because I would’ve wasted so much, just thinking what a waste, what a waste… what a waste it wouldn’t have been. You already know so much and me I know just as much, so wouldn’t we know everything and anything and all the things that anyone knows? “God damn it to hell, why were you an hour late?” I say again and the silence of the air shatters into pieces again, let me into your mind, but unfortunately only as a friend. I had forgotten that you were two years and a half a century late, it’s not your fault though, I know it. I’ll try to learn how to drive and send my car into the ocean where the fish live forever and the fishermen kill new fish just for “research,” but I’ll be okay I say and wonder “why,” again and again. You were an hour too late and nobody else is suitable for your shift, you’re a silly skirt wearer, and still a child at heart. Living young is the best part and the braces come off my teeth and the lenses fall out and “She’s perfect.” you say with a smile on your face, not quite caring if anyone notices. Two pages, two days, you were two hours late, and two times two times ten minus twenty hours late. Such a common mistake only read about in books, such a common mistake; let’s go find Peter Pan and Captain Hook.
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