Times, trains, whose house after. I look organised. I am just frightened of being left in a doorway with nowhere to put this tired face.
Tag: friendship
I leave product everywhere. I know that. Still, if you use my mascara I will know. A shared flat is not a shared bloody face.
Nobody believes us, least of all ourselves. Quick ones turn into last trains and a messy little story I will edit at work Monday morning.
Nice people go quiet. The group chat dries right up. Then the money leaves and we are mates again. Poverty makes all our manners seasonal.
No speech. Just the look and an extra mug on the side. Flatmates see the mascara and the hour. Lying is pretty pointless in here.
Nobody believes us, least of all ourselves. Quick ones turn into last trains and a messy little story I will edit at work Monday morning.
Not sex this time. An actual argument. I put music on and hated myself for listening. Thin walls make you an unpaid bloody little witness.
Habit from years of it. Where the door is. Who I came with. How I get home. Then I ignore it for one last look.
If it is easy, I stay out. If I am bored in twenty minutes, I should leave. I rarely leave. That is always the problem.
It makes my mouth small straight away. I would rather stay in than do that dance. Pride is expensive. So is pretending I am fine.