it's not our eyes that see

and hi i'm ken, 20, and i like pokemon, beards, and weird things

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joshua was counting his fingers earlier. i watched him as he lifted his thumb, raised his pointing finger, and wiggled his pinky. i was sitting beside him, startled, thinking what is he tallying, mayhaps the number of hours left until our would teacher shut her mouth and stop talking about language and cast japes about pirates. probably, he’s summing up the total number of stars in the north adding them to the grains of desert sand, multiplying them all together to the needles of pines. i can’t hear him talk, but he’s saying something, his eyes were communicating to his fingers as if he’s playing a piano, making a sonata that only me can hear. believe me joshua, every note of your score is revolving in my head. he continued to count as i noticed him insert the end of his pen in between two of his fingers. 

joshua. i was seated next to him, my definition of hot, a chubby teenage guy with a trim beard, wearing glasses, probably he’s far sighted or near, but i swear to god he’s who i want, i can offer a jar of cookie for him, worship him, soap his legs and thighs and toe nails with milk and honey and i’ll fill his tub with cucumber and lime slices. 

i saw the guy—who i saw holding a grocery bag with boxes of cheddar, few pears and garlic breads, and who’s with a petite girl with huge boobs and he’s wearing black, thick shirt, with a print of a leafless tree perched with red-eyed ravens earlier while i am sitting on bus on my way home, hands on the window sill, listening to indie songs, i am keen enough to take picture of his legs and the shape of his face: circle, his eyes the color of egg shell—in an online dating site. i thought they’re together,  that guy and the girl he’s with earlier, he’s holding the bags and the girl is holding a jacket, hanging on her shoulder like a dead deer, and i thought he’s that guy in tuxedo standing in an oak door waiting for ladies to come and stare at their eyes and open the door, and make a hand gesture or a wink to signal them that they are more welcome to enter, but he’s not. in his online profile, it says that he likes both men and women, and i think he’s kinky. i am getting interested to make him run in circles in my palm’s laps. 

we didnt know why he cried. we sit together, playing snakes and ladders; it was anne’s turn when he cried. in our heads, the word why is rotating on its axis, dancing ballet in circles in the wooden stage of our brain. 

why did james cry? 

it was my turn, james’s tears are flowing on his cheeks knocking on his skin’s pores, making a trail down to his chin. i threw the dice as james cried harder, both of his palms were covering his eyes, wiping his eyelids but the liquid didn’t stop from exiting. the dice said 4 so i moved my chip four boxes forward, passing james’s chip. he just couldn’t stop from sobbing, he went noisier, his moans even louder. 

it was his turn, the dice was inside his hand. he tossed it. it fell in the floor, bounced for two times until it revealed a side—1. james looked at us, he’s willing to tell us the reason why he’s crying.  

jason. i saw him in the side of the road with two of his friends. jason was wearing black and white, white shirt and black shorts that hung down to his knees. and i doubt that he’s hairy, i like him to be hairy, i haven’t seen hair strands marching like ants on his legs. they are waiting, they are waiting for girls, harlots to come pass by and trade numbers and flirt and fuck. i observed jason as he tossed the cigarette to the ground and left it there, like he left me, he should have stepped onto the cigarette, should have crushed it for the cigar’s ember to stop igniting, he should have told me to stop hoping

i am not quiet when i’m all alone

the things inside my head are talking 

i was in the same bar. i noticed him, but he didn’t notice me. im an invisible particle sipping a mug of hot chocolate and wishing i have marshmallows floating inside it. im unseen, always the ghost, the stalking air, the shadow. 

youre the guy in white that day, you wearing the same leather jacket you wore last week, it wasn’t cold, it was summer, but youre wearing jacket, and it’s not just jacket, it’s leather jacket. i am like the summer to you, you know it’s summer, but you don’t want to feel like it’s summer.