the sky is bruised and creeping across the clock adding to each minute the repeated thought of bed
i should be in that bed but i keep clicking

and

i am reminded of another one never mentioned; the bruised sky and back skin sticking to that fake leather, sticky pleather; the heat under floridian summer with busted air conditioners (where ever i lived, the air conditioner always busted)

in the middle of summer, between one relationship and another, the sun creeping along the edges to bruise the sky and the phone pressed between couch cushion and my ear, trying to bury his voice as deep as it would go; he said meet me for breakfast i said i would shower and then i would

but then reason washed over me as i washed days of oil from my hair and went to sleep instead despite his protests, which didn't prevent me from feeding him water on his birthday; i drank too many jagerbombs and danced foolishly, to show off while his wife wasn't paying attention; this was earlier than i remember it because i remember trying to get my grandmother off the phone in the parking lot as she was drunk, bemoaning the impending death of my father, and i shouldn't have driven that night.

another night still i followed him to make sure he got safely home and he stopped his car on a side street and kissed me through open window, and it was only the second but still the last time and i
still shouldn't have been driving
this time martinis instead of jagerbombs
i don't drink anymore martinis
but flopped on the first bed i could find, the closest to his and still the furthest from

it was quite a web we(all) spun

funny what a song can remind you of

karaoke
and misguided affections

-----
it was all so long ago, you know? all those times, all those things that happened four years ago, five, ten? specifically in this case, it was four--many stories happened between then and now and many stories before--but for this purpose, four; and july was a month unto itself, indeed, and how, and such. more importantly MOST IMPORTANTLY OF ALL, we are now in july. next month will be august. and the month after that. the month after that will be september. my lip quivers and my little eyes are less dry when i think about the truth of it.

all the stories that have happened between four years ago and now, including all those times i was drunk and i shouldn't have been driving, including all the different boys and men or women, including the conversations i had with anyone who bemoaned the death of my father--anyone and everyone, except. except for my little brother; including all of those things and the things inbetween four years ago and now, four and a half years really, five maybe six if you take all things into consideration (and if i keep considering i could count them all, all of them).. count whichever years you may, but the TRUTH is that for all of this time, my brother has been gone, locked away, nearly as distant as my dead father and this september, this september tenth

he will be free.

...