complacent

This is tomorrow and next year and we can be yesterday; we can all be yesterday and anteayer, can be the ticks and tricks on your uncle's clock and cry about the moments we've all lost. Did you map out the next step? Draw it out, ink it, streak it and, God, there are too many things that aren't permanent and even tragically more that are. Your wrists, my God, your wrists and arms and that is all, that is all I have to say. We trip and sit and slit our throats and pasts and lights -- our tomorrows strolling backwards. If we stitch and fix our nailbeds into today, into the words and images everyone has recycled, we'll become complacent. Then we'll become calm and complacent and concentrated on the dust resting in our palms. No you can keep it, I guess. Can hold onto your braces and silently, slowly chase whatever it is that keeps you up at night. Keeps you on your toes. Rather sure you are safe from becoming complacent.

They taught you well and they taught you early. I don't know what it is that our eyes screeched, but they're effective, let me tell you. This graduation is not mine, but it feels like it. Absolutely feels like it. Absolutely feels like all these past and future days we are trying to be will hurt us in the end. I'm confused, then. Worried that Tempe is being eaten by the sun. Uncertain whether driving around in my bright yellow car makes us pretentious or rebellious. I can't be tomorrow. And since I don't even believe that my past belongs to me, how can I be that either? I am mending things. I am writing letters. I am drinking coffee and cleaning my bedroom. I am letting the phone ring and break my ears, letting my soulmates create and follow and ruin whatever it is that they need to. Even in the very first breaths of summer I want autumn. And that's okay. So is yesterday and anteayer. Next year, too. I think we know how to heal it all, fix it all. I think we do.