my shoes

what’s that, you say? you want to know what it feels like to be misunderstood? even by your own self? please, step into my shoes.

there is a small triangle of sunlight coming in through the front door. it's not much, but it's enough to illuminate bits of the wood floor and the rug that covers it. the cat splays herself out on the floor in just the right spot and rolls around, her teeth bared, her tongue poking out and her yellow-green eyes flashing. she has sought out the light and the warmth- why haven’t you?

you ran a stop sign today. red, octagonal, reflective, you didn't even slow down. it was a three-street intersection. you weren’t sending a text message, you weren’t listening to loud music, you weren’t chatting on the phone. you weren't staring at a cute guy out the window and you most certainly didn’t blow through it on purpose. you simply didn’t see it until you were already on the other side, because you weren’t there- why aren’t you ever where you are?

here when you're there, there when you're here, your head is in the clouds. only happy when you are, hypothetically, somewhere else.

sopaipillas and churros, peanut butter and jelly, good grades and nice cars, pigeons in the plaza. english, spanish, tall buildings, the andes. none of it all matters, but you can't seem to see it. 

"my love, i'm going to be so sad when you leave."
"my love, i haven't even gotten there yet."
"but what about the night before, how will i sleep? knowing that in the morning you'll be leaving? and then, when it comes time, how will i get out of bed? someone will have to drag me... "
"don't get ahead of yourself."