�They�re called bedroom eyes,� your mother says of the deep black circles that refuse to blend in with the rest of your olive complexion no matter how late you force yourself to sleep in. Later, they may be mistaken as the mark of drug use or too many nights spent fisting your tears away. You are lacking the heavy lids that inspired an 80s hit, those lids that saved Bette Davis from a life of invisibility, a life to which it seems you have been destined. But for now, your mother tries to build up the self-esteem that has already been smothered by those disastrous years of middle school, years when you are too young to be of consequence but too old to get away with just anything. At least in high school you can blame your moodiness on hormones and apathy on society.
Bedroom eyes; what the hell does that mean anyway? Eyes that have been up late gazing into another�s for the deepest of sinful pleasures? Certainly this is not the case for you, as the only reason your eyes are open past the closing credits of television�s most clever late-night host is to read and reread those books that seem to have been written for your tortured, pubescent soul. You pronounce the name �Salingrrr� because the angst and ironic apathy of his words can only come from a name that sounds that tough. You imagine your name upraised on a plain white cover, wondering what will fill the void between the title and the profound pull-quote � or perhaps even the most flattering phrases of praise � found on the back.
one year ago today: you know when people say, "don't touch that, you don't know where it's been"? i can imagine our couch being the type of place that things have been that you wouldn't want to touch."