Girls When he leaves, he leaves a space, a big or little airless place that begs to be filled. A part of the weekend that says What are you going to do now? And you think if you fill it up you’ll survive. So you work and clean and call and cook and write and drink and read and sleep and shop and say This is fine this is fine. You can do this. Laugh and go out drinking with your friends when it’s over. Call everyone you know and say whatever. Shrug, clear your throat. It’s kind of like losing a dog. You’ll miss him but maybe it’s better this way His friends are still your friends sometimes and they watch you because they send him messages about how you are doing. Sometimes they figure now is their chance and they tell you they’ve always had it bad for you. Be careful with his friends. So cut your hair and learn to play guitar. Walk fast and yell back at bike messengers who tell you what they’d do to you if you were theirs. Stop wearing his coat and sell his CDs. White out his name in your address book Buy new perfume and learn to masturbate with the showerhead. Turn the pain into something you can use. And when it feels like you’re imploding, like you’re the only one know that there will always be girls who stream through this city with their mouths slightly open trying to breathe and waiting to be kissed Nicole Blackman

via Facebook