Thoughts while listening to a friend think of love.

I had just woken up from a life gone when you showed me your antique dark blue dress decorated with delicate ornate beading. When you were little you always wanted something nice.

“Isn’t it nice?” You asked and continued talking to me about the assholes and the lovers you had cut up and put in your freezer. You’re a horrible at playing unaffected especially when I can see the scrapes and scars on your knees and knuckles. I wanted to warn you of the possibilities that sometimes love doesn’t come in a letter written out and addressed to you. I wanted to hold you, keep you steady, when the ground came beneath your feet. It would be something small to cause it to all come down.

I didn’t want you to go through your personal apocalypse.

Instead I told you how
I sometimes buy plants. I don’t know how to care for them and don’t make an effort to learn. Usually the soil dries out and the leaves brown. Sometimes I’ll be drinking iced green tea, watching Little Britain and pore some tea into the pot. It’s always too late.