when i sleep tonight, i want to wake up to the honks of cabs as they pass by my building. my right cheek turned down to the pillow, one eye to flutter and slowly dart across the room. brick walls and unpolished floors covered in faded colorful ethnic rugs and a brown sofa across a coffee table where i left my favorite mug last night. i’ll turn my back to the bed and stare at the ceiling, listening to the sound of the neighbor yelling, construction across the street, and the call for help the ceiling fan makes that amuse me. i’ll watch the soft light wander around the room where it enters by the window where my bed is stuck. i’ll be happy i got the big window with sort of a view; it’s never easy to get it in an expensive city like this. i’ll prop up palms down and sigh and think how i could part ways with my bed where i’ve been lying down for just five hours. i’ll not mind, let my feet find my slippers and fail, walk barefoot instead with my pajamas sweeping the floor as i go. i’ll get my mug from the coffee table and lean in on the small kitchen counter (if that’s what you call that tiny tiny space) and turn the coffee machine on. wash the cup while waiting and tempt myself with the aroma of coffee wafting through the air. i’ll sit on the counter until the beans are finished, pour some with milk and sugar. i’ll get my keys from its secret hiding place, my wool sweater from the rack, and walk out the door, locking it as i go, with the cup of coffee on hand. i’ll patiently climb up the five flights of stairs while watching my coffee carefully (silly me i filled it too much), sigh, and arch my back to stretch when i finally hit the pent, open its heavy rusty door and smile. no one’s occupying my favorite seat (the only one with a backrest in the set) so i’ll put my mug on the chipped white metal garden table and sit on my chair, indian style. i’ll tug my sweaters in, keep my toes toasty inside my legs, lift my mug to my lips and finally take my first sip of coffee for the day. the warm liquid traveling to my empty stomach as i watch the sky grow lighter. it’s going to be a fine day in new york city. i’ll tell myself, i’m here, yes, here. it’s true, i’m here.
photo found here, my visual dream board, tumblr
so i just finished doing a monologue of my second brother’s subconscious. i put on this small, kinda raspy, still a girl voice, and he just listened to me while i spoke his mind. (apparently, it’s everything he thinks about. and he’s an almost 6-footer 12 year old.)
background: i pulled a prank on him telling him that his ultimate crush messaged me on facebook that she’s just tired of my brother sending her everything. he bought it, confessing that he sends “x sends” (they call it that i don’t know whyyy) not really accidentally. haha!
so anyway, the monologue went on something like this (keep the small voice on):
i love her smile.
i love the way she talks and wrinkles her nose when she giggles.
i love her eyes, the arch of her brows, and those beauty marks.
i love the way she smiles. her laughter.
the way she walks.
it’s all i can think about.
i don’t know why, but i love her.
i really do.
i want to grow grey hair with her.
i can’t explain why.
i hope she notices my “x sends”.
i’m trying my best here.
i hope she realizes i’m the one for her.
not that m———- butch. (sorry, can’t break the bro code here)
yeah. i hope she realizes how much she means to me.
i love her. and i can’t tell why. there’s no point.
and then i went on asking him why he’s so red when he’s copper brown in skin.
then he asks me,
"why? haven’t you felt this with someone before?"
and all my intricate words scattered.
is all i can think of.