Tap Tap Tap

If you were to slice me open, like a peach, or an avocado, you’d find a pit.

And that pit is made up of countless fibers, bound up into a loop, wrapped around themselves over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and… well… you get the idea.

Sometimes when I type, the words are just a byproduct. The sound that satisfies is the tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap. Try it yourself and you’ll see… tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap tap.

Morse code plucked out on a heart string, finger pickin’, finger lickin’, wet with peach juice and avocado, mashed. (But not together, because well, gross!)

I hide behind the surreal, because in that world of melting clocks and ten hour long songs, nothing needs to make sense and so my nonsensical obsessions and predilections fit right in. A fly, staring through your very soul, then crawling deep into some long-forgotten keyhole.

You should have known from the start that I was a fire sign. Even worse, an archer with flaming arrows, meant to pierce and immolate hearts from a distance. Legs of a horse, unburdened by a cart, fleeing free into the forest at the first sign of trouble.

You should have known, and maybe you did know. But I’ll never know, because all we’ve got left is fever dream memories and all these eccentricities that echo across seas and rustle the leaves in the trees and sometimes even sting like bees, and… bite like fleas. Feel that itch? I heard it last seven years, maybe more.

Felt cute, but might delete this later. So enjoy it while it lasts.

Or just let yet another thinly veiled attempt at hello again pass.