I am taking requests!
I did this when I used to have a LiveJournal and it went fairly well.
There is no limit on the number of requests one person can place.
The requests will be filled in the order they are posted.
Try to specify anything you can about the piece you want written.
Leave prompts in the comments.
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Saturday, May 30, 2009
A Quick Update
To everyone who has been reading "If You Wish Me Luck, Heads Will Roll" (aka Mikayla, Rose, and Kiri):
I am doing some editing on what has been written so far. New material will be coming up again after I finish that editing. Sorry.
I am doing some editing on what has been written so far. New material will be coming up again after I finish that editing. Sorry.
Holly's History
Copyright Julia Bydulia.
---
The classroom felt small and sticky. Holly could feel herself sweating.
He was standing at the front of the room, his tie loose around his neck, holding the meter stick and using it as a pointer. She smiled despite herself at the way he almost spun when he turned around to write notes on the white board.
In front of her, DJ was sitting with her head down, surely scribbling something that had nothing to do with history, the subject of the class they were in the middle of. Behind her, she knew that Chris was sitting with one leg stuck out into the aisle, the other folded up under him as he intently took notes between drawing Pokemon.
The day was bright. Holly sat right next to the window, so it felt like she was in limbo between two completely separate worlds. One with bright green grass, mellow skies, and almost eerie murders of crows gathered; the other with tan, speckled ceiling tiles, tiled linoleum floors, twenty-two indetical chairs and a wall spattered with posters on famous African-Americans.
Her notebook was open and covered in song lyrics that were running through her head. She wrote the artist's name in bold, block letters and ran her fingers through her hair, looking up every so often to capture him in her vision and keep the image in her head.
There was a bass line pumping through her veins. She let it leak out through her pencil and let go of the notes she was supposed to be taking. There were days for history and there were days for this...whatever it was.
The classroom felt small and sticky. Holly could feel herself sweating.
Holly felt a lot of things. Everything and nothing, all at once.
---
The classroom felt small and sticky. Holly could feel herself sweating.
He was standing at the front of the room, his tie loose around his neck, holding the meter stick and using it as a pointer. She smiled despite herself at the way he almost spun when he turned around to write notes on the white board.
In front of her, DJ was sitting with her head down, surely scribbling something that had nothing to do with history, the subject of the class they were in the middle of. Behind her, she knew that Chris was sitting with one leg stuck out into the aisle, the other folded up under him as he intently took notes between drawing Pokemon.
The day was bright. Holly sat right next to the window, so it felt like she was in limbo between two completely separate worlds. One with bright green grass, mellow skies, and almost eerie murders of crows gathered; the other with tan, speckled ceiling tiles, tiled linoleum floors, twenty-two indetical chairs and a wall spattered with posters on famous African-Americans.
Her notebook was open and covered in song lyrics that were running through her head. She wrote the artist's name in bold, block letters and ran her fingers through her hair, looking up every so often to capture him in her vision and keep the image in her head.
There was a bass line pumping through her veins. She let it leak out through her pencil and let go of the notes she was supposed to be taking. There were days for history and there were days for this...whatever it was.
The classroom felt small and sticky. Holly could feel herself sweating.
Holly felt a lot of things. Everything and nothing, all at once.
Friday, May 29, 2009
This Is An Open Letter
Copyright Julia Bydulia.
For Kiri (Like Woah).
---
I consider me.
And I consider you.
--Every night, I sit around on the couch,
-idly flipping my phone open and shut,
open and shut, op--------en and shut.
In the day, too. I contemplate texting you
-and sending you the thoughts I usually
--keep locked up with good intentions
------------------------------------until I forget.
I consider me:
---struggling to keep my voice strong and crystal clear
---with doubts about my flaws and imperfections.
I consider you:
---striking poses and silly faces with unneeded explanations
---about just how attractive you really are.
---It's funny, because you mean to be sarcastic,
---but your words are woven through my memories
---and ring extraordinarily true.
You're a very sweet girl that--- finds herself
in bitter situations, just like ----anyone can.
---You're an honest girl with good intentions
---that I know will get you far.
----This poem and my wild thoughts
------might come on strong when I let you read them,
--------so I hope you can still stand me
----------by the time these words are through.
I consider me;
I consider you.
For Kiri (Like Woah).
---
I consider me.
And I consider you.
--Every night, I sit around on the couch,
-idly flipping my phone open and shut,
open and shut, op--------en and shut.
In the day, too. I contemplate texting you
-and sending you the thoughts I usually
--keep locked up with good intentions
------------------------------------until I forget.
I consider me:
---struggling to keep my voice strong and crystal clear
---with doubts about my flaws and imperfections.
I consider you:
---striking poses and silly faces with unneeded explanations
---about just how attractive you really are.
---It's funny, because you mean to be sarcastic,
---but your words are woven through my memories
---and ring extraordinarily true.
You're a very sweet girl that--- finds herself
in bitter situations, just like ----anyone can.
---You're an honest girl with good intentions
---that I know will get you far.
----This poem and my wild thoughts
------might come on strong when I let you read them,
--------so I hope you can still stand me
----------by the time these words are through.
I consider me;
I consider you.
Mini Golf
Copyright Julia Bydulia.
---
"Your turn!"
Rich, Danielle, and I were all playing miniature golf. It was Saturday, the course was a little bit soggy and the sky still looked damp from the light rain it had let down that morning. I was wearing my hoodie as protection in case the heavens decided to drench us again. It felt heavy on my shoulders, rolled up to my elbows.
Rich was leaning on his short golf club with its pink handle, staring at me intently while both of them waited for me to take my turn. He had shaggy brown hair and a long straight nose on which he wore a new piercing each day. Now, most times seeing a guy with a nose piercing is tacky, gross, weird, or a combination of all three. But, somehow seeing it on Rich every day just works. It does that on some people. He was tall and skinny with a lot of promise to keep getting taller without gaining an ounce of weight (if I could only be so lucky) like those trees they plant at the park when they "landscape" it.
I picked up my golf club (complete with a purple handle) and walked toward my bright yellow ball, sitting about ten feet away from the hole. I always felt like a giant on mini golf courses, even as a little kid, but, especially now, standing almost six feet tall while eight and nine year olds wait their turn with their mothers and fathers at other holes.
"Are we a little old for mini golf?" I ask, lining up the club, the ball, and the hole in my sights.
Danielle shook her head and beat her club against the green (is that stuff supposed to look like grass?). "How could you say such a thing? Blasphemy!"
I laughed and hit the ball roughly in the direction of the hole, missing it by about two inches. "Damn," I muttered, trying to be quiet enough to spare the children their innocence.
Rich stood up straight and strutted toward his magenta ball with purpose. "Move over girly," he said to me, pushing me slightly out of the way. "Watch how a real man plays his mini golf." He cleared his throat and shook out his arms before planting his feet and lining up the club and the ball and the hole exactly as I had done.
"A real man, huh? Do all real men wear their sister's prom dress?" I asked, smirking and waiting for him to look up.
He didn't, though. He spoke to his gold club and the green carpet-grass-thingy under his feet when he responded. "That was one time. I was nine. And you will not--"
"Let you forget it," I finished for him as he clenched his teeth and tried to relax his golf stance.
He failed.
Danielle was sniggering to herself, leaning on her gold club as Rick had casually been doing just a minute before. She had long, chocolate brown hair that reached the middle of her back when she wore it down. Then, she was wearing it up in a sloppy ponytail to keep it from making the humidity unbearable. She was nearly as tall as Rich with mountainous breasts (compared to my anthills) and a curvy physique. She was the best dressed fat girl at our school, and she knew it as well as everyone else.
When Rich finally took a swing at his ball, it flew off the green and into the rocks and he banged his club against one of the fake rocks that was scattered through the course.
"Rich. Time to take a deep breath and take the par five that you deserve. Move along," I instructed him. Danielle marked both of our par fives on the score card, underneath her par two, and we all walked down the cheesey stone path to the last hole.
"This is the big one. Sure you to ameteurs can handle it?" Danielle set her ball down at the beginning of the course and planted her feet the same way Rich did. She was the Queen of Mini Golf. We always played the castle course at at the end, Danielle would climb on one of its walls and announce that we were all her "loyal servants." It made me laugh and it made Rich scowl. I still wasn't quite sure why he still came to our mini golf shindigs.
I scoffed at Danielle. "You are going down, Smitherson. So. Far. Down."
She just laughed and swung her club, sending the ball directly into the first hole which sent it down to the next level. We all leaned over the railing to see it emerge from the pipe on the second level of the hole.
"Hole in ONE!" Danielle screeched, already halfway through her victory dance as I set down my ball to take my turn. "What's that? Three total? OH YEAH."
I laughed and tapped my ball politely, not wanting to hurt its feelings. I landed in the hole, but, when my ball emerged on the second level, it landed right next to the last hole instead of in it. I grunted in frustration and kicked the railing as Rich set down his ball. I crossed my fingers in my pockets for him, not wanting my good luck to be stolen by Danielle's eyes. It was for Rich.
His ball landed in the first hole and all three of us leaned over the railing, eager for a hole in one. Rich's ball rolled out of the pipe below and kept on rolling. Instead of ending up in the hole, his knocked mine inside and remained in mini golf limbo, directly on the edge of the hole.
He rushed down the stairs and started throwing a fit right next to the ball, screaming at it and banging his golf club all over the place as if the ball could hear and the club could feel.
"Are we going to get thrown out again?" I asked Danielle.
She shook her head, laughing. "I doubt it, but, he should probably try to avoid bending that club."
I smiled at him and nudged Danielle. "You know, I technically only hit my ball once--"
"Shut up. It counts as two, you mini golf loo-ooser." She bumped my hip with hers and swished away down the stairs.
I stayed up top, leaning on the banister and watching the two people I loved the most: one in a way we both understood, and another in a way I was too scared to communicate. Rich made my heart race, and not just because of his short temper. Something about those bottle-green eyes--
"LILIAN GET YOUR LOSER ASS DOWN HERE. WE'RE GOING OUT FOR ICE CREAM!" Danielle screamed at me. Rich was sitting, defeated, on the ground while Danielle started cabbage patching all over the course.
I laughed and started down the stairs.
---
"Your turn!"
Rich, Danielle, and I were all playing miniature golf. It was Saturday, the course was a little bit soggy and the sky still looked damp from the light rain it had let down that morning. I was wearing my hoodie as protection in case the heavens decided to drench us again. It felt heavy on my shoulders, rolled up to my elbows.
Rich was leaning on his short golf club with its pink handle, staring at me intently while both of them waited for me to take my turn. He had shaggy brown hair and a long straight nose on which he wore a new piercing each day. Now, most times seeing a guy with a nose piercing is tacky, gross, weird, or a combination of all three. But, somehow seeing it on Rich every day just works. It does that on some people. He was tall and skinny with a lot of promise to keep getting taller without gaining an ounce of weight (if I could only be so lucky) like those trees they plant at the park when they "landscape" it.
I picked up my golf club (complete with a purple handle) and walked toward my bright yellow ball, sitting about ten feet away from the hole. I always felt like a giant on mini golf courses, even as a little kid, but, especially now, standing almost six feet tall while eight and nine year olds wait their turn with their mothers and fathers at other holes.
"Are we a little old for mini golf?" I ask, lining up the club, the ball, and the hole in my sights.
Danielle shook her head and beat her club against the green (is that stuff supposed to look like grass?). "How could you say such a thing? Blasphemy!"
I laughed and hit the ball roughly in the direction of the hole, missing it by about two inches. "Damn," I muttered, trying to be quiet enough to spare the children their innocence.
Rich stood up straight and strutted toward his magenta ball with purpose. "Move over girly," he said to me, pushing me slightly out of the way. "Watch how a real man plays his mini golf." He cleared his throat and shook out his arms before planting his feet and lining up the club and the ball and the hole exactly as I had done.
"A real man, huh? Do all real men wear their sister's prom dress?" I asked, smirking and waiting for him to look up.
He didn't, though. He spoke to his gold club and the green carpet-grass-thingy under his feet when he responded. "That was one time. I was nine. And you will not--"
"Let you forget it," I finished for him as he clenched his teeth and tried to relax his golf stance.
He failed.
Danielle was sniggering to herself, leaning on her gold club as Rick had casually been doing just a minute before. She had long, chocolate brown hair that reached the middle of her back when she wore it down. Then, she was wearing it up in a sloppy ponytail to keep it from making the humidity unbearable. She was nearly as tall as Rich with mountainous breasts (compared to my anthills) and a curvy physique. She was the best dressed fat girl at our school, and she knew it as well as everyone else.
When Rich finally took a swing at his ball, it flew off the green and into the rocks and he banged his club against one of the fake rocks that was scattered through the course.
"Rich. Time to take a deep breath and take the par five that you deserve. Move along," I instructed him. Danielle marked both of our par fives on the score card, underneath her par two, and we all walked down the cheesey stone path to the last hole.
"This is the big one. Sure you to ameteurs can handle it?" Danielle set her ball down at the beginning of the course and planted her feet the same way Rich did. She was the Queen of Mini Golf. We always played the castle course at at the end, Danielle would climb on one of its walls and announce that we were all her "loyal servants." It made me laugh and it made Rich scowl. I still wasn't quite sure why he still came to our mini golf shindigs.
I scoffed at Danielle. "You are going down, Smitherson. So. Far. Down."
She just laughed and swung her club, sending the ball directly into the first hole which sent it down to the next level. We all leaned over the railing to see it emerge from the pipe on the second level of the hole.
"Hole in ONE!" Danielle screeched, already halfway through her victory dance as I set down my ball to take my turn. "What's that? Three total? OH YEAH."
I laughed and tapped my ball politely, not wanting to hurt its feelings. I landed in the hole, but, when my ball emerged on the second level, it landed right next to the last hole instead of in it. I grunted in frustration and kicked the railing as Rich set down his ball. I crossed my fingers in my pockets for him, not wanting my good luck to be stolen by Danielle's eyes. It was for Rich.
His ball landed in the first hole and all three of us leaned over the railing, eager for a hole in one. Rich's ball rolled out of the pipe below and kept on rolling. Instead of ending up in the hole, his knocked mine inside and remained in mini golf limbo, directly on the edge of the hole.
He rushed down the stairs and started throwing a fit right next to the ball, screaming at it and banging his golf club all over the place as if the ball could hear and the club could feel.
"Are we going to get thrown out again?" I asked Danielle.
She shook her head, laughing. "I doubt it, but, he should probably try to avoid bending that club."
I smiled at him and nudged Danielle. "You know, I technically only hit my ball once--"
"Shut up. It counts as two, you mini golf loo-ooser." She bumped my hip with hers and swished away down the stairs.
I stayed up top, leaning on the banister and watching the two people I loved the most: one in a way we both understood, and another in a way I was too scared to communicate. Rich made my heart race, and not just because of his short temper. Something about those bottle-green eyes--
"LILIAN GET YOUR LOSER ASS DOWN HERE. WE'RE GOING OUT FOR ICE CREAM!" Danielle screamed at me. Rich was sitting, defeated, on the ground while Danielle started cabbage patching all over the course.
I laughed and started down the stairs.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Sunflower
Copyright Julia Bydulia.
This is the first time in a while that I am going to be writing something really original.
---
Yellow and brown.
I looked the flower in the face and clenched my fist tight, resting it on the table in front of me, just inches away from the vase the flower was in.
I'm not sure why I saved the thing. I never wanted it. I tried to convince him not to give it to me, but, rejecting the gift would crush him and I knew that.
I released my fist and laid my palm flat on the table, its cold surface dragging down the temperature of my hot hand.
"I read somewhere that the sunflower represents foolish passion... and the sun, obviously. I got you the biggest one that the florist had."
He was so happy to be standing in front of me with that big, stupid flower. His smile was crooked, like it always was, and his eyes were shining, bright and blue.
I tried to smile, but, I knew it looked about as unhappy as I felt. I took the flower after arguing with him over it for a few minutes, then I walked to my car as fast as I could.
I could feel his eyes on my back as I walked away, burning a hole in my bumper as I drove home.
Yellow and brown.
The vase was clear and I could see the stem drinking, thirsty from the long, dry voyage to my house.
It's hard to say no when the only questions you're asked scream 'YES!'
His fingers brushed mine when he handed me the flower, and I could tell that he got his hopes up that I would reach back for a second touch. He was relishing in the feel of our skins together. I was not.
"Thanks, Danny."
I was nervous he would expect more. I wanted to leave more than anything.
My heart felt yellow and brown, but, not like a sunflower.
My heart felt yellow and brown, like a bruise.
This is the first time in a while that I am going to be writing something really original.
---
Yellow and brown.
I looked the flower in the face and clenched my fist tight, resting it on the table in front of me, just inches away from the vase the flower was in.
I'm not sure why I saved the thing. I never wanted it. I tried to convince him not to give it to me, but, rejecting the gift would crush him and I knew that.
I released my fist and laid my palm flat on the table, its cold surface dragging down the temperature of my hot hand.
"I read somewhere that the sunflower represents foolish passion... and the sun, obviously. I got you the biggest one that the florist had."
He was so happy to be standing in front of me with that big, stupid flower. His smile was crooked, like it always was, and his eyes were shining, bright and blue.
I tried to smile, but, I knew it looked about as unhappy as I felt. I took the flower after arguing with him over it for a few minutes, then I walked to my car as fast as I could.
I could feel his eyes on my back as I walked away, burning a hole in my bumper as I drove home.
Yellow and brown.
The vase was clear and I could see the stem drinking, thirsty from the long, dry voyage to my house.
It's hard to say no when the only questions you're asked scream 'YES!'
His fingers brushed mine when he handed me the flower, and I could tell that he got his hopes up that I would reach back for a second touch. He was relishing in the feel of our skins together. I was not.
"Thanks, Danny."
I was nervous he would expect more. I wanted to leave more than anything.
My heart felt yellow and brown, but, not like a sunflower.
My heart felt yellow and brown, like a bruise.
Thursday, May 21, 2009
Maybe (Won't Get Me Too Far)
Copyright Julia Bydulia.
---
Maybe the morning will wrap you in her
slender arms and carry you past the sunset
into today, where we're all waiting.
Maybe the twilight will strangle you with
thick, black fingers and powerful threats
that push you forward into violent sleep.
Sometimes, I wonder where you are
when I wake up and find the house empty.
Sometimes, I wonder what you're doing
when I'm trying not to think about you.
Maybe noontime will capture you in her
sun stained eyes and you'll fall in and get lost
until the brightness fades.
My mind is covered in thoughts of you like
messages on a bulletin board that
swallow my attention span and bury me alive.
Sometimes, I wonder how you are feeling
while my heart beat beat
-----beats ------------and
beats at the thought of you.
Maybe when the sun and the moon mingle in the sky
we'll meet again and try not to get burned
by the forecast or Father Time.
---
Maybe the morning will wrap you in her
slender arms and carry you past the sunset
into today, where we're all waiting.
Maybe the twilight will strangle you with
thick, black fingers and powerful threats
that push you forward into violent sleep.
Sometimes, I wonder where you are
when I wake up and find the house empty.
Sometimes, I wonder what you're doing
when I'm trying not to think about you.
Maybe noontime will capture you in her
sun stained eyes and you'll fall in and get lost
until the brightness fades.
My mind is covered in thoughts of you like
messages on a bulletin board that
swallow my attention span and bury me alive.
Sometimes, I wonder how you are feeling
while my heart beat beat
-----beats ------------and
beats at the thought of you.
Maybe when the sun and the moon mingle in the sky
we'll meet again and try not to get burned
by the forecast or Father Time.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
If You Wish Me Luck, Heads Will Roll
Copyright Julia Bydulia.
Part XVI of a story with a working title!
---
The stage behind the curtain was dark. Michelle was washed in the shadows, standing just next to the light that was leaking in from the hall outside. That light was harsh in the hall, but, it was softened by its journey through the window in the door. Elena and Michelle were wandering around backstage, bored because they weren't needed on the stage.
"Do you see that light?'' Elena was leaning against the wall, rolling her head back and looking up at all the cracks in the wall.
Michelle looked up and followed Elena's eyes. "Oh my gosh, where is that coming from?" As she shifted her feet and her eyes back and forth, the light moved in the opposite direction.
"I don't know!" Elena was staring at it, too, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Michelle stole some glances of her, petite, blond, and beautiful. Pale like a porcelain doll. Her shirt was a bright but soft blue that hugged her body and wrinkled as her body moved. Michelle liked that blue looked in the shadows and in the light. She liked the softness of her hair that swung past her shoulders and tucked easily behind her ears.
"Is there a room on the other side of the wall?" Michelle asked, tucking her hair behind both her ears and keeping Elena in her peripheral vision.
"Yes, isn't there?"
They kept their heads lolled backward, their eyes glued to the crack in the wall that was leaking that angelic light on them. Elena had a smile spread on her face like marshmallow fluff. Michelle was in awe. She almost didn't want to figure out where the light was coming from.
"That's amazing," she whispered quietly.
Part XVI of a story with a working title!
---
The stage behind the curtain was dark. Michelle was washed in the shadows, standing just next to the light that was leaking in from the hall outside. That light was harsh in the hall, but, it was softened by its journey through the window in the door. Elena and Michelle were wandering around backstage, bored because they weren't needed on the stage.
"Do you see that light?'' Elena was leaning against the wall, rolling her head back and looking up at all the cracks in the wall.
Michelle looked up and followed Elena's eyes. "Oh my gosh, where is that coming from?" As she shifted her feet and her eyes back and forth, the light moved in the opposite direction.
"I don't know!" Elena was staring at it, too, shifting her weight from foot to foot. Michelle stole some glances of her, petite, blond, and beautiful. Pale like a porcelain doll. Her shirt was a bright but soft blue that hugged her body and wrinkled as her body moved. Michelle liked that blue looked in the shadows and in the light. She liked the softness of her hair that swung past her shoulders and tucked easily behind her ears.
"Is there a room on the other side of the wall?" Michelle asked, tucking her hair behind both her ears and keeping Elena in her peripheral vision.
"Yes, isn't there?"
They kept their heads lolled backward, their eyes glued to the crack in the wall that was leaking that angelic light on them. Elena had a smile spread on her face like marshmallow fluff. Michelle was in awe. She almost didn't want to figure out where the light was coming from.
"That's amazing," she whispered quietly.
I'm getting more and more biographical.
Copyright Julia Bydulia.
---
"They're not gay."
"They are so gay."
"I think they're just friends."
"Nerds."
"Band geeks."
"Faggots."
Max and John walked down the hall together, shoulder to shoulder, before school, between classes, and after school was over. John was taller by an inch or so, so he would lean down closer to Max's ear sometimes, so that he could be heard over the constant buzzing of the hallway.
"Have you heard the shit they talk about?"
"Shitty anime and some lame online game."
"It's sort of funny--"
"--one's so big and the other is so little."
Some kids like to laugh at them and point out their flaws and the weirder things. They hung on the details that accentuated their strangeness and dissected the things that made them stand out from the crowd.
"What about their clothes?"
"All those track suits that Max wears!"
"And all of the weird tshirts with animals that John wears!"
"I think Max is funny."
"He's a grade below us, isn't he?"
Speculations flew. About their musical and sexual preferences. About how they spent their time outside of school. About their grades, their other friends. People watched the way they walked and the way they talked. Some wanted to be like them, to know them. Some wanted to avoid them.
"They are such freaks."
"Have you heard how many people talk about them? They're more popular than you."
Max had a way about him that made certain people want to be around him. John was reliable to stay faithful to his personality, rather than changing himself for others. They were both unique in that way.
They made girls like me smile.
---
"They're not gay."
"They are so gay."
"I think they're just friends."
"Nerds."
"Band geeks."
"Faggots."
Max and John walked down the hall together, shoulder to shoulder, before school, between classes, and after school was over. John was taller by an inch or so, so he would lean down closer to Max's ear sometimes, so that he could be heard over the constant buzzing of the hallway.
"Have you heard the shit they talk about?"
"Shitty anime and some lame online game."
"It's sort of funny--"
"--one's so big and the other is so little."
Some kids like to laugh at them and point out their flaws and the weirder things. They hung on the details that accentuated their strangeness and dissected the things that made them stand out from the crowd.
"What about their clothes?"
"All those track suits that Max wears!"
"And all of the weird tshirts with animals that John wears!"
"I think Max is funny."
"He's a grade below us, isn't he?"
Speculations flew. About their musical and sexual preferences. About how they spent their time outside of school. About their grades, their other friends. People watched the way they walked and the way they talked. Some wanted to be like them, to know them. Some wanted to avoid them.
"They are such freaks."
"Have you heard how many people talk about them? They're more popular than you."
Max had a way about him that made certain people want to be around him. John was reliable to stay faithful to his personality, rather than changing himself for others. They were both unique in that way.
They made girls like me smile.
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
I'll Remember
Copyright Julia Bydulia.
---
You give me a warning:
learn to drive.
And then I slide out of the seat
and into the booth
that you reserved with
your purse and a broken
napkin dispenser.
Four of us with dollars to change
ready to be spent on
unruly, unblinking machines
who will gobble them up
faster than we can manage
to feed them.
Who cares?
I'll empty my pockets
for a trio of circular promises
that can follow our fingertips
and lead our palms
into memories we are making
for days when we want to reminisce.
---
You give me a warning:
learn to drive.
And then I slide out of the seat
and into the booth
that you reserved with
your purse and a broken
napkin dispenser.
Four of us with dollars to change
ready to be spent on
unruly, unblinking machines
who will gobble them up
faster than we can manage
to feed them.
Who cares?
I'll empty my pockets
for a trio of circular promises
that can follow our fingertips
and lead our palms
into memories we are making
for days when we want to reminisce.
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