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Thatapos;s it. There is no more. And there is an empty space inside of me because of it. I donapos;t think that it can be filled.
and how dramatic can i be about such a thing.
as dramatic as a smashed emerald green car whom i gave the name "green car" only after she had died and left this world to be torn apart and made into goodness knows what.
and so iapos;m sitting here, and iapos;ve been sitting here, and i canapos;t say if iapos;ve been either very patient for a very long time or if iapos;m just not being patient at all.
i canapos;t tell you what iapos;m waiting for. It will splatter in my throat and cause an uproar of emotion. Or no emotion at all because itapos;s all been said before.

i remember getting into the backseat of a boys car. Another girl we work with that is usually in returns sat in the front seat and poked and criticizing sort of fun at his smoking.
i didnapos;t know you smoked.
i donapos;t.
then what are you doing right now.
oh this. This is nothing.
he put on a song that i knew, and i told him that i knew the song in an almost whisper, never having guessed that he would listen to such a thing. I was silent the whole way home, listening to the song with the sound of the boy and the girl in front jabbering and laughing and coughing and speaking with their strange accents that arenapos;t all that strange when youapos;re not from southern california.
but i am from southern california. And everyone must know that simply from seeing me run into a bathroom to dab tissue at my eyes. From whatever terrible and tragic reason i see fit to dab my eyes at for.

i donapos;t know where papa has gone. He wasnapos;t there when i woke up this morning. He wasnapos;t there when i came home ten hours later. He wasnapos;t there after i had stained my breath with various things. And heapos;s not here now as my eyes are getting heavy and reality is becoming too real.
iapos;m tired of real reality.
and my hair is in my eyes.

a pumpkin sits on an untouched paint set and smiles at me with large, oversized eyes and a tiny little smirk on the side of itapos;s disfigured, orange pumpkin face. But who am i to say that the poor thing is disfigured at all? i have just as disfigured and orange a pumpkin face as it does.

where are my days even going? is there much to look forward to now that those days have passed? i keep hoping that i just donapos;t know what this universe has in store for me, if anything at all. And i will wake up tomorrow, or the day after, or many days after that, and i will find something that will make me happy. And i will be afraid that it will leave me, but it wonapos;t.
i said this to someone not so very long ago.
there are voices outside of the window. And i want a cigarette. But i am afraid to leave my room. I am afraid to leave this place right here.
no where to go but my work, my dui school, my english class and all the bus stops in between. And you may see me sitting there, in my funny looking coats, sitting with my funny looking posture, and you might think something or other about me. But then you will move on with your pretty life that i see as something so beautiful that i wish i could paint a picture and make it burst out into the world for everyone to see.
oh help me.
but i donapos;t need help.
if you ever need a stranger, iapos;m your girl.

the day that i turn 21 will be a bad one inverydeed. I can walk home that day with a bottle of wine and a bottle of gin and not feel so bad about it. Because this country says that i can do such things. As long as i stay one hundred miles away from anyone and anything.
i can drink alone. And that is okay. And i can talk to myself when i am walking alone. And that is okay, too. And itapos;s okay, only because iapos;m lonely. And as a lonely person, i have that right.

itapos;s going to be a beautiful day. I donapos;t know what day it is, yet, though. But i know that itapos;s going to be a beautiful day. I had a dream about that day almost happening as i slept last night. I stood by an emerald green car with three or four others, and we held glasses of blood red wine, and watched a figure approach from far away. A silhouette beneath a street light. Dusk. But iapos;ve always been a fan of twilight.

i think i could go many days, this way, if only i could do whatever i wanted.
i like it when my customers wave to me when i sit outside blackening my lungs as though iapos;ve known them all my life. I like it when they say my name without looking at the name iapos;ve written on my orange apron. I like it when they understand my awkwardness. I like it when they smile at me and donapos;t look away from my eyes. I want that human contact so much that i savor the moments when i can stare into their different colored eyes. It doesnapos;t hurt me so bad to know that i donapos;t have anything to come home to.
no phone calls. I can feel the pity that wants to touch the edges of my bones. No one could possibly look forward to seeing ashley clair garcia. A bout of insanity. They donapos;t hear what i say, and i continue on anyways without ever even looking at them. I hear voices struggling in my sleep. Or i hear nothing at all. And i want to hear everything that there is to hear.
i donapos;t have it in me to do these things.
maybe i will learn one day.

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