the guilt, but mostly the metabolization of the night keeps me awake. rain, and soft, wet air, patters on the windowsill & street accompany me.

i carve through the porky dead flesh of recent memory with a scalpel in my mind, looking for a granule of something; clasp a closed hand to my left breast, find a crumpled love note that i want to unfold and flatten on my chest, so i do.

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over work drinks, i tell my colleagues that my best friend is getting married this weekend, and the cheeky one accuses me of being Julia Roberts in some film, secretly in love with my best friend, so i roll my eyes, because cheeky co-workers are like drunk people playing darts at a bar together, and you know how films like that go, if you keep watching.