writing things

the wine has gone to my head it has surrounded me like the bath the night before. i blew bubbles in the bath, i thought of drowning but knew he was coming over. Tonight my ring is ruby red much like my newly self re-peirced ear which is beating red like my ring, like the bittersweetness of tonight. I had thought being the last night i should try to change things, bet it all or pull out completely. we watched baseball and drank cheap wine, nothing had changed, i loved him. we often lied in bed, him watching tv or sleeping and me staring at him thinking "this could be it." hes coming opps! oh, the baseball has once again distracted him. im hiding in my parents room writing, i find pecils to be romantic especially black ones, my mother loves them as well, that must be where i got it from. Charles Rossi wine and ESPN are another kind of romantic, a summer romance. i used to sleep with sports center on and dream of the boys of summer. he found me writing here and asked "what are you doing" i quickly wrapped up my sentence and said "writing" and giggled. he said " writing? writing what?" i said "things" and he said "writing things?" i responded "yes" and quickly hid my notebook away for later typing. this was my last night of summer and also the best night of summer. he had found me there writing, writing things, writings things about him, about romance, about him.