read you like a book.

he looked pleased with himself, smug. she: You think you have me all figured out, don't you?!

him: Bird, you are your own worst enemy in all of this. Your eyes and that grin give you away, and even if they didn't, you'd tell the world how you're feeling anyways.

she: Well then, if that's the case, that's not much to be proud of, to figure out what is spelled out for you; you may be a dark cave of deep corners and hidden feelings but doesn't that make the person who can figure you out  the true top dog in this scenario?

him: So it's you who has me figured out? Let's hear it. What do you know?

She, for a split second, considered all that she knew. Considered telling him- the turn of your head when I talk for too long, how you quote the books you read. you like wearing sunglasses, you have notebooks full of poems and people you should call, you knew you were wrong even from the first day but you stayed. You moved away because you were tired, you walk away because you don't know how to show up when you don’t have to be the hero. You’re afraid that no one’s going to care in two years. You know Loneliness like an old brooding friend in your living room. [oh. A pause.] I don’t think you know me as wide and deep as you think you do, or else you would see IT pouring through my veins.

she: You are Odysseus and you wish you were a bird. You do more than you take credit for. You forget a lot, and you're bad at calling back. Also, I did see you when you were singing while looking at yourself in the mirror and doing Justin Timberlake dance moves. I lied.

him: Damn. I knew you saw me, It was wishful thinking. You're not holding on to video of footage of that as blackmail? It wasn't that embarrassing.

she: Ah, I draw our attention to my archaic flip phone, sans video camera. Would you rather have no eyebrows or have totally obnoxious back hair?

him: No eyebrows. So wait, you think I'm just some guy in a boat that fights sea monsters and tricks gods and thinks he's smarter than everyone else?

she: No, you are a boy in a boat who gets to see what most won't, who's trying to get home but you're afraid of the quietness it might have. You are a boy in a boat who was worthy of the fight of the difficulties in front of you and who turns them into a story full of Victory.


him: who does that make you?

she, thinking: Penelope. I think I'm Penelope.

she: I don't know, I'm in a whole other story all together. Maybe I'm one of the Lost Boys with leaves and feathers in my hair, I have no idea. You tell me, Mr. I-have-you-all-figured-out.

him: You're not a book, you're the ocean.

Posted on March 2, 2010 and filed under writing-.