Entry #2

She woke up at 6:00 AM to the sound of "Swallowtail" by Wolf Alice. I couldn’t hear it, but she hasn’t changed it in years, and I can’t imagine her changing it any time soon. Plus, she has a soft and childlike expression made just for that song. It’s a sight to see, and as I sat on my unsteady branch, I thought the same thing I’ve been thinking for the past year: “There’s no other way I’d spend my mornings.”

She laid there for a moment, then she got up. A little sloppy, obviously hungover. I wish those assholes didn’t pressure her to drink so much.

She ran her fingers through her hair. Her ring got caught, but she yanked it out. Her face didn’t change because her scalp is made of iron.

She walked out of the room, but not before tripping over that damn hamper.

I waited. I could feel something crawling up my jeans, multiple somethings. I vigorously rubbed at my legs. My branch cracked a little, which spiked my blood pressure. The sun was out, but it was freezing. My hands were numb. A red car drove by. Then a blue one. A gray one. Another gray one. A black one. A white one. A bright pink jeep… hope the owner of it chokes on her own spit. How fucking obnoxious.

She came back an hour later looking like an absolute dream. The most unsurprising turn of events.

Her hair was up in two braids. It was a style she rarely wore, but pulled off so well. It accentuated her baby face.

She was dressed in a lime green romper. Not her color, but I support her decisions as long as they’re not harmful.

Her skin was rosy, fresh. Her updated skin care routine is doing her wonders. Those honey-milk masks are no joke.

She began snapping her fingers and staring harshly at her feet, something she typically does whenever she’s in deep thought or looking for something.

I kept glancing at my phone. She stopped looking after five minutes and stomped her foot. Her frustration had bubbled over. She didn’t even look. I’m always amused whenever she gives up so easily.

She grabbed her bookbag and crammed her stuff inside of it. The disorganization stresses me out to no end. The day she allows me to teach her how to be more organized cannot come soon enough.

After she… did the best she could possibly do, she left the room once more. However, I knew that it would just kill her inside to go the rest of the day without whatever she was looking for, so I didn’t climb down from the tree just yet.

I was proven right when she stormed back inside the room, combed through the random junk on her desk, then jumped for joy when she produced a journal from the mess.

I smiled. My girl’s no quitter.

A bee buzzed past my ear. I almost fell out of the damn tree.

Awake

I dream of feather pillows and sunbeams streaming

Through an open window, wings beating against

My eardrums, insistently, and then, there’s you,

Awake, watching, drawing patterns in my arms,

Humming Swallowtail under your honey breath.

Yes, there’s heaven and then there’s your shoulder

Brushing against mine, then there’s your hand

Guiding mine to where you want it the most,

To where your eyes can widen and your chest

Can rise and fall, bloom poppies into a ribcage.

I am who I truly am in this silence, in the ocean

Crashing against the mainland, far from where we sleep,

And, for once, you are who you truly are, at peace.

We strip ourselves of the everyday, of the sheep,

And we simply become one, us and the sea.

Where we were always meant to be.