7.23

I caught a glance of myself in a mirror today and stopped for a second look. I look healthy. My skin is a good color, my eyes are shiny and bold, my hair soft, even if it is wispy. My shoulders are wider than when I was a boy, my waist narrower than when I was a slob, my legs stronger than when you loved me. I look healthy, of course. I look it.
My new wide shoulders throw a sigh in the air and my new strong legs feel weak and ineffective. What of my waist? Probably starvation born of melancholy. My good skin feels sallow and my hair feels thin, and all that's left of my staggering health is my eyes. My eyes are piercing bright, true, and they look and feel sharp and important. I suspect they have been sharpened as a weapon. It's not by choice, but I do secretly hope my glance would cut you if you were here.

7.17

I'm frustrated by the fingertips of your indecency--that which you so carefully drag across the back of my neck. Why here, please? Why now? Of a thousand possible moments, why choose this one to thrust yourself into, full-faced and force-bared? I would stop you, but I want to feel it a little longer.

7.10

The following list of firsts have utterly defined me: breakup, funeral, surgery, bankruptcy, loss. But my first kiss? First love? First child? These don't enchant me. Where are the songs for my values? Where are the nightmare songs about waking up under the knife, your heart beating out of your chest, the pain slowly sharpening to frightening intensity, your limbs leaden and unmoving, but your eyes frantically tearing about, looking for anyone who might notice and throw you under again?

7.9

She just changed everyone's mind by putting her foot down, and she got her way. We all just bent aside like willows in a hurricane. I hated it. I watched her blow by the rest of us like weeds, whipping about, our cells stretched and breaking, our sap spilling out.

7.3

He looked across the table at the girl he liked, who only had eyes for that boy, there, the one who tries to keep his intentions from being obvious, but everybody knows the future of them if their trepidation can be overcome by a force outside the two would-be lovers whom he, remember, envies, and in his envy, cherishes begrudgingly, despite his best friend leaning in close and whispering softly "Aren't they just the cutest?" Yes, they are. And it's terrible, he thinks, but privately. Outside, he smiles.

7.1

If I wanted to, I could see the surface, but I'm looking down, searching for the bottom. My body, uncooperative, is suspended midway between salvations--air above and kicking off the bottom below. My eyes strain against the increasing black, but all I see are peaceful sun ripples spreading themselves across my stagnant arms.