[bones. skin. silver. air.]

i came home to the sounds of "300" coming from the living room.  my shoulder still pulsating, ever pulsating, tender from the day of dragging books, stress, life around.  jim is looking at it on thursday.  hopefully its nothing serious.

ate a pear over the kitchen sink, still listening to the violence and shouts of spartan battle coming from the next room.  the florescent light in the kitchen made everything look pale and sickly.  even the nearly overripe pear in my hand, its juice running down my arm.

opened the door to the white bedroom i’ve made for myself.  the white room i call home.  washed my sticky hands and pulled my hair back.  looked at myself in the bathroom mirror, surveying the damage of the day, noticing that it seems my eyes are giving away all my secrets.  those bastards. 

now the sounds of sex.  low voices, a belt buckle, the bed creaking under added weight.  the slow moans of my roommates new boyfriend.  i sigh, get up and turn on the fan.  the white noise helps.  white noise for a white room.

made a playlist a few weeks ago that went unnoticed.  now, out of new speakers still on the floor, it plays quietly,  muffling the sound of lovemaking from the room next to me, muffling the sound of my turbulent thoughts.  elliott smith, then some gentle voiced boy with a french name, mum, old sufjan stevens, a natalie walker song that makes me want to swim in the ocean. 

compliments today that didn’t go unnoticed still have me off-kilter.  and phone calls i wasn’t expecting to get.  its attention i’m not sure i’m ready for, attention i’m not sure i can field.  usually i’d have a glimmer of giddyness, a skip in my step so to speak (alliteration!).  but not now.  not this.  not yet.  just not. 

best part of my day is the hot shower i’ve yet to take.  and crawling into flannel sheets, white as snow.  falling asleep below a white canopy.  like enveloped in a white cloud.  oblivion for the next eight hours, which will probably turn into nine.  because the routine of the day has become heavy and burdensome.  though i won’t admit that to you in person. 

but my eyes might give it away.