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back or forth

they're drilling screws into the cement of my walls. outside, boarding up windows against high speed winds. today we spent an hour or two in the library, hushed voices, laughing at books. flipping through photographs and kissing when we thought no one could see us.

at home you lay on my bed and i sit on the floor, reading all these scripts and everything sounds the same. i read some outloud and i can't see your face but i think you rolled your eyes.

lately when i wake up my skin hurts to touch, it happens more and more often. i miss late night conversations with fellow insomniacs. but, the other night i wrote. not this spilling my guts, vomitting words, but real emotion.

really my life is so predictable, just like everyone else's. it's disgusting that before i could never get happy, get enough sleep, see you enough, and now that i have that, i need change.

really, i am just waiting.