you are in my thoughts.

I'm thinking about you.


I'm thinking about the way you blink in the fluorescent lights. I'm thinking about the creases in your fingers. I'm thinking about the shape of your shoulders and the sound of your pulse.


I'm thinking about you, and trying not to.


But I am.


I'm thinking about you like insomniacs think about sleep; like I think about sleep. I'm thinking about you like the sea thinks of the stars. Like static electricity thinks about your strawberry-blond hair.


I'm thinking about you like Lucifer thinks about God. Like an atheist on his deathbed thinks about God. Like a bruised hooker on the side of the road thinks about God, and tries to think of something else.


I'm thinking about you like your bed thinks of the shape of you.

Like a blind man thinks of the girl he loves but he can't think of her right because he doesn't know what to think, what to see.


I'm thinking about you like you think about she thinks about he thinks about.. me. I'm thinking about circles and love triangles and shapes without any real beginning or any real ending.


I'm thinking about you like plaid thinks about crawling across your shoulders in the form of a long-sleeved shirt. Like the white pawn thinks about his queen. Like a lonely young man thinks of a lonely young woman. Like your fingers itch toward another power-chord.

I'm thinking about you like everyone thinks of their mom when they fall down and break their wrist. I'm thinking about you like Rasputin thought about Anastasia (but not anymore, because he's dead.)


I'm thinking about you like flightless birds think about flying. Like human beings think about flying. Like a bird in the sky thinks about setting his feet on the ground, resting his wings.


I'm thinking about you like the sun thinks of my soft skin, of making it burn and making it peel. Like a cricket thinks about the very moment that you fall silent. Like a tattletale thinks about the very moment that you screw up.


I'm thinking about you like a narcissist thinks about himself. Like the furniture in your dark house at night thinks about leaping out at you, bruising your shins. 

Like my heart thinks of your heart.

Are you thinking about me?


Are you thinking about me like I think about you? Are you thinking about me when you should be thinking about her? Are you thinking about me like you think about breathing (you don't) or are you thinking about me like a song stuck in your head (unstoppable, unwanted)? 

Are you thinking about me when you glance back and I'm there and I turn away, pretending that I wasn't thinking about you first?


Because I was thinking about you. I'm still thinking about you. And I will be thinking about you. Past present future. 


You are in my thoughts.

Cheers,

Syl