blanket fort. soft pink sheets over my head. listening to nico, chelsea girls on vinyl. sheets draped over a vintage brown vinyl kitchen chair. laying on a colourful crocheted afghan. small tears in the woolen seams. warm. the light shines through like a child’s summer dream. i am dreaming. this isn’t necessarily real. we are listening to “i’ll keep it with mine”, i believe. we are laying beside each other. warm.
i tell her.
“i can’t keep anymore secrets.”
she says “just one. last one.”
she grabs my face, fingers grasp hair. faces pressed together. warm, wet, salty tears. but we are happy. we are dreaming.
we do not stop. we are in the blanket fort. dreams. we have our arms wrapped around each other. her skin is soft. i forgot about her cupcake tattoo. her soft folds of skin fit perfectly in my grasp. i wipe tears from her cheeks. her eyelashes stick together like best friends. i love her. i tell her i love her and it is true. i am in love. she is surprised.
“i’ve suppressed all these feelings”, she says.
she is a sad person. we destroyed each other. but in the blanket fort everything is fine. we are both lost in our minds, lost in a cloud. she is above me, her body over mine. her eyes are bright, glistening with old tears. i watch her jaw tremble. she is above and a tear falls from her eye and onto my cheek.
she is a cloud.
“you are a cloud.” i say.
she agrees. i am a cloud.
i imagine her skin with a drawn nightmare covering her face. eyes closed, patterned skin.
she is a dream.
she is a nightmare.
we are inseparable as these things. i do not want to let go. i want to hold on. we are both wearing plaid. she says “homo camping”. we sit beside each other. quiet. smoking cigarettes. i light two at once, one for her, one for me. she laughs slightly, nods her head down. ashes out her cigarette, turns her head slightly towards me. left hand in her short curls of hair.
lips parted she whispers,
“i can’t quit you.”
& i agree.