Ink

I booked my tattoo today.

I
am
so
extraordinarily
nervous
but
I
can't
stop
smiling.

Salty.

Tears run down my face in streams.
Salty streams. Thick.

I couldn't tell you why I cry.
I couldn't tell you why the pills and the spills don't take the pain away.

I hate you.
I love you.
I know you.
You're a stranger.
You are soft.
You are tough.

But I cannot have all of you. I want all of you. But I can't have all of you.

Instead - I have this face full of tears.
In salty streams.
Thick.

Love.

My mum asked me today.
"Why do you love him?"
And wide eyed I stared at her.
Why do I love him?
The words fell out of me, heavily.
"He's special."

Dairy

There was a man sitting behind me today while I was riding one of Melbourne's ever so consistent public transport vehicles. He had a chocolate milk in one hand and a bottle of whipped cream in the other. He was almost melting over the chairs around him, collapsing and passing out. But he never made a sound. Never disturbed anyone.
He just sat there, hunched there, lay there, with his milk and cream.
I sent my dad a text message asking what I should do.
It didn't feel right just leaving him in his heap.