It’s cold outside. And I don’t like it. It makes me feel like I’m not real- like how the wind stabs right through me. With every step I take I feel like I need to grasp my ribcage just to hold it together. I hate the way my feet sound when I walk too. My steps feel mismatched, like they can’t catch up with each other. Loud and obnoxious- just like my breathing and my heart beat- just like the hundreds of other people I pass on a day to day; slap slap slap on the concrete as I hastily make it to nowhere watching my feet cross the lines of sidewalk. I count them, one two three four Oops; I missed one I have to start over now. One, two, three, four, fiv- something hit my hand. Hard. I look up cursing at the sky seeing an orange pine tree swaying angrily in the wind. Throwing baby pine cones at passersby and subsequently, my hand. I stop. Standing on the line of the sidewalk- but not too forward because that will break the balance of the line. One side can’t be too long but the other can’t be too short. It has to be even on either side. Perfect, like this tree. He stands tall branches waving and squeaking in the wind. Dropping frilly leaves and circular cones like bombs as another bounces off my wrist, in the same spot, like he’s taunting me. He is taunting me. I imagine a face, maybe he’s old and knowledgeable with a white beard like a garden gnome. His voice is garbled and shrill but comforting. The corners of his mouth are stained with tobacco and he smells of smoke. I like it. The smell of cigarettes and tobacco in the cold. I walk closer to him, touching his bark and smelling it, wishing I could taste it. Why?
Before I could even confirm, he told me. And you know, it’s funny- all I can do is laugh. I feel so ignorant, but free? I just wish I could have touched him. Do you think he would have smelled of smoke? What would he have tasted like, and his skin told many stories but his eyes always said something different. Maybe that’s it. My eyes said it all but his- they never seemed to say enough.
or maybe I’m just fucking crazy shit I don’t fucking know.
