Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Writing

Making Pasta With Morrissey

This is such an old story,

so predictable,

well trodden boards, and all that,

but I gather everyone I know and I tell it again anyway,

because my heart feels like she has never been heard.

I am currently attempting to live in the moment.

I am currently attempting to “have fun” and enjoy being young,

but as I knew before,

and as I already know that I will know after,

I am having a dreadful, stressful time,

because I’m the kind of girl who needs to know how things turn out,

so that she can decide if the inevitable heartache will be worth it.

There is always inevitable and unavoidable heartache.

I am trading texts with a man,

who has an deep desire to tie me up,

and fuck me up (and likely in various other directions) in his living room,

and I think that he thinks my hands are hurried inside my silk underwear,

but in fact,

I am not wearing underwear (please don’t tell him),

because I am home alone,

watching concert videos of The Smiths on YouTube and preparing pasta,

but we are in the moment,

so I play pretend,

in case he wants to fuck me in a more palatable way,

or maybe even wants to fall in love.

That would be nice,

but like heartache, disappointment is also inevitable and unavoidable,

so I try not to get my hopes up too much,

I try not to give myself a headache,

my heart warmed at the thought that I will at least have a hearty meal this evening.

The water bubbles with excitement,

but I do not.

When Morrissey muses about “Girl Afraid”,

he means me.

He might not know it,

but I’d know my anxious agony anywhere,

so, yes, I am girl, and yes, I am afraid.

Where do his intentions lay?

And what are mine?

When does “having fun” translate to having a good time?

I’m sorry,

but I will lose my shit if I have to say to myself

“Jennifer, Jennifer, it was really nothing”


because again,

I am having absolutely no fun,

in my summer of love,

where no love is actually found,

and I am profoundly worried about the safety of my body and soul.

One thought on “Making Pasta With Morrissey

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