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Description
He reaches over as I loll back on the bed, buzzed, and grabs a handful of my jeans between his knuckles. Pulling up on the fabric, it gives about 5 inches. I can see him frown.
"Have you lost weight?" he asks.
I nod.
I cannot remember the last time I ate a good meal. Yesterday, I had to punch a new hole in my belt to make it fit.

He looks over at me briefly, then back at the computer screen. He watches South Park for another thirty seconds before blurting out: "So I met up with that girl..."

"I don't wanna hear it," I snapped automatically.

"I couldn't do it," he continued.

"I don't wanna hear it," I repeated firmly.

"She's too easy. I'm just going to hang out with her, but I don't want her like that."

I was quiet. Even though I was buzzed, I understood that this was his way of saying sorry: "Sorry that I told you I never cared."

But men are dicks. They'll never say something like that out loud.

I find solace in the woods and wilds. Today, I hiked to the top of the world, just to see the view. I wish I'd brought a camera, but the terrain was too rugged and I didn't have a proper means to carry it. Nevertheless, the experience alone was what I needed. Sometimes, you're better off alone - if only for a while.

I've probably failed all but one of my classes. I've missed too much school because of the crash, my illness, my irresponsibly. But I'm heading home to Portland in a matter of days; I'm going to sleep in the arms of my boyfriend, pack up my gear, and the two of us will head out in my big red truck with the mattress in the back, just to chase the music.

We're trekking it to the ends of the Northwest territory: Country Fair, Burning Man, Warped Tour, Streetlight Manifesto, and any other concert we can find along the way.

We'll sleep in the back of the truck when we get tired, and Jake can play his guitar when we run out of money. I'm used to life on the road by now, and the lifestyle suits me.

We are feral. We are wild creatures with no ties to anything but the earth itself, and even they are sometimes faded by the alcohol or the warped reality we see in our dreams as we sleep. There will be bonfires, and mosh pits, and anti-war protests. It will be bloody, terrifying, and oh so beautiful. It will be perfection.

Description
He reaches over as I loll back on the bed, buzzed, and grabs a handful of my jeans between his knuckles. Pulling up on the fabric, it gives about 5 inches. I can see him frown.
"Have you lost weight?" he asks.
I nod.
I cannot remember the last time I ate a good meal. Yesterday, I had to punch a new hole in my belt to make it fit.

He looks over at me briefly, then back at the computer screen. He watches South Park for another thirty seconds before blurting out: "So I met up with that girl..."

"I don't wanna hear it," I snapped automatically.

"I couldn't do it," he continued.

"I don't wanna hear it," I repeated firmly.

"She's too easy. I'm just going to hang out with her, but I don't want her like that."

I was quiet. Even though I was buzzed, I understood that this was his way of saying sorry: "Sorry that I told you I never cared."

But men are dicks. They'll never say something like that out loud.

I find solace in the woods and wilds. Today, I hiked to the top of the world, just to see the view. I wish I'd brought a camera, but the terrain was too rugged and I didn't have a proper means to carry it. Nevertheless, the experience alone was what I needed. Sometimes, you're better off alone - if only for a while.

I've probably failed all but one of my classes. I've missed too much school because of the crash, my illness, my irresponsibly. But I'm heading home to Portland in a matter of days; I'm going to sleep in the arms of my boyfriend, pack up my gear, and the two of us will head out in my big red truck with the mattress in the back, just to chase the music.

We're trekking it to the ends of the Northwest territory: Country Fair, Burning Man, Warped Tour, Streetlight Manifesto, and any other concert we can find along the way.

We'll sleep in the back of the truck when we get tired, and Jake can play his guitar when we run out of money. I'm used to life on the road by now, and the lifestyle suits me.

We are feral. We are wild creatures with no ties to anything but the earth itself, and even they are sometimes faded by the alcohol or the warped reality we see in our dreams as we sleep. There will be bonfires, and mosh pits, and anti-war protests. It will be bloody, terrifying, and oh so beautiful. It will be perfection.