Online Romance My Daydream Of Urban Planning
I left Washington state without my senses, and though
all five were intact, I felt as if I'd been worn and
then discarded like a blanket in the early morning. I
soon tried consulting dictionaries and thesauruses,
too, hoping to catch her home, hoping they'd hold her
definition. When she begins, aligning her arms upon the
northern wind, I lie in wait for the word back from her
outpost. She breaks a sweat. It's hot up there and I
have not said yet into this walkie-talkie half of the
things that I could. If I was so skilled, I'd construct
the biggest fan that I could build and I'd use my
cranes to point the breeze in her direction. (A boy
trying trying at cooling off the angels, that lonely
boy am I.) Mr. William Shakespeare did namecheck her
when he was writing his prose. He'd put her name in his
rhymes, but not even once did he convey her whole
being, not a single time. He must never have had one of
those moments, like when I got her to smile. I didn't
try at all, but when she looked at me she grinned like
she'd just robbed the mall. 'You're as hot as the sun,'
I'd say. She'd just laugh and respond, 'Okay, I'm hot
as the sun, you say.' She stole it all and just walked
away. I know her town, but only through her loosened
hair of brown, so I invent the remainder to my liking.
There is a lake, though its dimensions do cause me a
mistake, so I lose context in my daydream of urban
planning. I name the streets. I name the texture of her
cotton sheets. I'm incomplete and that's the father of
my dreaming. I looked her name up in the Bible, and it
was there a few times in undigestable form, not in the
way I would explain her: like how she hates when it's
warm, and connected to that, how the hair mats to her
forehead before a balmy mid-summer storm. And if she
was here, by God, I'd show you, but all I've got is
this phone. I'm all alone.
