Prose Pt 2

It is so godamn easy to ignore everything outside my job, commute and home. At home I tell myself, my job doesn't really define me. At work I tell myself, my small apartment does not define me. It is too modest, I was never that. And I remind myself that these dualities carry no bearing on reality.

...so stagnant, is it dead? Or is it festering with life?

So I define myself on a special set of prejudices, that keep me smirking. She doesn't define me. And I doubt she would try. She is plied by the finest diversions. I am muttering these things out loud to myself. To myself because no one is listening.
And there are plenty of people around.
In fact, I think, there are too many people here.

They are a patchwork of gorged bellies and soft faces. And so horribly pink. They are as uninterested in me as I am in them. But they all love her; for the way she takes you breathlessly...screaming. So effortlessly, I wonder if she is aware how she effects them.

A kiss blown across the room misses its target.

Forget it, I tell myself, forget her.
Let the whole scene go.
Leave the party!

So I crack open a pack of smokes and walk out behind the house. There are five of her friends out back. As I approach they stop braying their inane nonsense, to walk quickly past me inside. Single file, all tight-lipped and fish-eyed. Who knew girls with such nice legs could make such ugly faces.

Then she comes out asking for a lighter. Remember her? She's got nice legs too. And loves to show them off.
She smiles wide batting her eyes and rubbing her thighs. I tell her, "I think we should split up."

"But I never..." she starts, so I stiffle her.

"I know. But I'm worried I never will."

"I'll move out tomorrow."