in the space between yes and no, there's a lifetime.

Happiness is lounging around in my room with red wine, listening to The Doors and Creedence, reading JG Ballard’s Cocaine Nights and eating gummy bears until my tongue gets all chewy and disgustingly sweet. It’s all I want sometimes. There’s plum incense burning and also some hyacinth oil that makes the air so thick it’s almost irrespirable. Sometimes I laugh at it and imagine myself a heavily bosomed spinster, who writes letters incessantly, letters that smell of perfume and old whiskey. They’re full of such delicious thoughts, my nights.

The scars on my knees, the leftover food in the refrigerator (dried up pineapple it is), the bad singing from the apartment next to mine, the pain caused by my last wisdom tooth piercing away the flesh, the impossibility of keeping my tongue out of the way, the exacerbation, the silly laughter that comes afterwards, the sweet nothingness which flutters from the TV’s screen, always on AXN, always some shitty crime series airing, a half complete cigarette, diet coke which fizzles on my tongue (I know, a blasphemy to the red wine mentioned beforehand), the rainbow sprinkles from excessive rubbing of the eyes, the package received in the mail the other day, the sound of wind escaping through a small gap in the window, the dampness in my hair, the chipped red varnish, the hurried glimpse at the vintage musical box, unplayed, untouched for so long, the black high-heeled shoes that always stay near the bed, though they’re never ever worn, the pictures on the wall, thinking of what to do with my hands, the blowing of kisses into thin air, my t-shirt with 9 sheep, 8 white and one black, in the middle, overdosing on painkillers, talking to the painkiller bottle, telling it it’s nothing, I’m ok, just allergic to the universe tonight, thinking of solving that mathematical problem that nobody solved yet, winning the very much undeserved success and recognition, gazing out of the window, deciphering shadows in the darkness, the smudged mascara, the late night coffee (I know, I know, another blasphemy), dreaming of a bagel or a donut to go with it, then the silence, the dozing off, the semi-awake nightmares about not recycling enough and ruined trees and photosynthesis and, and…