Friday

Thinking of you is like taking up smoking. I grab for the lighter and try to remember the shape of your face and your clenched jaw. I recall the funny jokes and my crinkled vision, but I don't hear your laugh. I cannot remember if I ever noticed it, so it is not in my head. There, you are kind and charming and you get along with my friends. It catches fire. But I also remember my conversations. The ones with myself when I was dreading seeing you. The ones with my mum as she convinced me to go. Heat crawls towards my lips. On the walk home, when you annoyed me and I was rushing, but I did not want to hurt your feelings so I played along. Maybe I would feel better now if I was mean. The burning pauses. I recall my message to her. Her response to my sober-drunken rambles, in the cold, with my dog- two days before Christmas when I had not seen her in weeks before and weeks after.

I see her face when I walked through the door. When I confessed everything. The not-at-all hatred, the discomfort, the pity. She admitted she hated you all along. We laughed. I hear her laugh all the time. Everyday at school, and I hear it when your name is mentioned.

I should regret it but I don't. Cigarettes have a funny way of crumbling.

I remember the cake and the fireworks on the news. The champagne-ridden gagging. Between them all were your words. I indulged and I let you say too much. I could have burned then. Someone said 'I love you'. It was shortened, and I waited until you deleted it to speak. I never knew if it was you or your friends, but I know it wasn't genuine because if it was then you were insane. Now, I think about you and my feelings are so ambiguous, sometimes I think they don't exist. The flame goes out.