I keep losing myself in the half empty glasses of beer smudged with other people’s fingerprints. They remind me of grocery store trips and dinner, sitting on a couch I don’t own anymore. Of cups littered across a coffee table after a long day. I’ve been replacing things, thinking maybe it will do the trick, releasing the scattered things I can’t find use of, but it only works when I have no other thoughts in my mind. I keep thinking maybe if I chip away at the piles of dirty laundry in front of the closet it will be enough, caught up in the humming tune of the wash. I can disappear for a while, in those moments of nothing in particular.
The Rummy Writer 