Blue Eyed Girl

From the moment I wake up, my eyes wander to my darkened phone’s screen, looking for the tiny yellow LED light that lets me know when someone sends me a snapchat message.

I used to not use snapchat at all. And then I met you.

You blue eyed girl. You’re so stinkin’ cute.

My heart lights up whenever you send me a message, with a ‘love’ attached at the very end, as if it were a pet name just for me. You send me a selfie, looking seriously at the camera, clutching your pillow, as you try not to smile while sending it to me. I like to imagine that you tried a few times to get that perfect angle to send me a picture meant just for me.

I find it hard to believe that it’s just for me. Just like I find it hard to believe that I’m the only girl that you call ‘love’. With looks like that, why would you respond to my messages within a moment of me sending them?

You say you’re boring, that you do nothing but work, and I can understand that. I do. But right now, in this moment, as I see the notification that you’re typing, you’re the most interesting woman on the planet to me. I can’t wait for you to hit ‘send’. It takes all of my self-control to not respond a few seconds later.

In between messages, you send me another photo, maybe this time it’s what you’re looking at, or a picture of you in your cute little work uniform, an ugly one that only you can pull off. I shyly open it and stare, feeling my heart rate go up for just a moment, imagining you looking at me that way in person. I shyly open the camera, adjust the lights in my room, maybe even change clothes, searching for the perfect angle so I can send one back.
You ask me how my day was and make me blush each time you say that I’m hilarious or smart when I spout off a random fact about whatever it is we’re talking about. How can you think these things, when my uneven smile and crooked teeth say otherwise? How can you say that I’m so funny, or that I’m so smart when I’m just repeating other people’s words and their jokes to you? I’m not really pretty, smart, or funny.

But the fact that you think so makes my heart swell.

Please let me meet you in person, blue eyed girl. Let me be your girl. I promise it’ll be worth it.

Molasses

Molasses

She felt like she was moving like molasses.

Waking up was a slow process, with burning, dry eyes and a heavy-set mind that never quite caught up to where she was. The cellphone on the nightstand rung out with a tone that was slow at first, but picked up after a few moments, as she thought it might make the ordeal easier if she were slowly introduced to it. It wasn’t. This was the ninth time that her alarm had gone off, and now, it was time to make herself get up.

Her mouth felt like sandpaper, and the water bottle she kept nearby was useless. Still, she clumsily twisted the cap off of it and took a long, deep drink of the plastic tasting water, spilling some on her jaw and neck. She didn’t care.

It only took five minutes to go downstairs, brush her teeth, take a piss, feed the cat, and stumble back upstairs to fall back onto the bed. The blankets were already starting to cool, and she gave a deep sigh as she fought to keep her eyes open. So far, her mornings were awfully similar to the mornings of people that she knew who weren’t the same, who didn’t get it, and who weren’t quite as tired as she.

An hour passes. She’s in bed still, tapping away at her phone, eyes warm and tired, hair still evidence of her slumber, and her phone’s battery slowly being eaten away by social media. It’s nearly time for work. Getting up and getting dressed was always an ordeal in the morning, but it was an ordeal that she must suffer through each day if she were to continue living on her own. Lightheaded, she managed to get out of bed and change into her work clothes as the buzzing in her ears began to dance with her vertigo.

Work was going to be a challenge, just like it was nearly every day. On the way there, she almost felt energized, as if stepping out into the fresh air and blasting her car radio was fuel enough to keep her going through the day. It never was enough. Within five minutes of arriving at her desk at work, the warm, hazy cloud was enveloping her again, and she stared blankly at the computer screen as it booted up.

Within an hour, the painful, physical need to sleep was crawling down her back. It didn’t matter if she got four, six, eight, of twelve hours of sleep. It was always like this. This heavy, encompassing feeling never went away, and the back of her mind always ached for something lesser, somewhere warmer, and somewhere darker. She yearned for the hot silence that her mind and body craved.

Seven hours later, and it was time to go home. She had nearly fallen asleep five times. Her bed was whispering in her mind as she turned into her driveway, and practically dragging her by the wrist by the time her front door was unlocked.

It was time to eat dinner and go to bed, then do it all over again. As she dragged herself up the stairs, she felt like molasses.