Songbirds

trojans [atlas genius]

A/N: this will be added to later.

“i would call them genius, but it’s already in their name.”

 

take it off, take it in / take off all the thoughts of what we’ve been

It’s three a.m., and I think that I have officially become an insomniac. I haven’t slept in two days, and I don’t feel like I will be able to anytime soon. My mind is too busy for sleep. The rain is beating on the windows, a relentless beat that will leave water spots on the glass when the sun [if the sun] decides to show. Everything is quiet except for the rain, and my computer humming against the wooden table.

Everything is quiet. Everything is still. It is so still that I feel that, if I move, I will be breaking some type of universal code, and the windows will shatter inward and my apartment will implode. So I am stuck, legs stretched out, me reaching to touch my toes. It is unbelievably uncomfortable, I dare not move for fear of being impaled with a shard of glass.

The tree outside my window creaks, so loudly that it startles me, and, as a result, I jump, and let loose a little shriek. My chest is heaving, and I feel like I am gasping for breath, like I was after I tried to run that marathon with you. Towards the end, I felt like my lungs were collapsing, but now I just feel so awake, and my hypothesis that I won’t get any sleep tonight is confirmed.

So I do the only thing that I know will help calm my sudden case of nerves: I tug on a decent sweatshirt and sneakers, and grab my car keys.

At three forty six a.m. on a Monday morning, the streets are empty, as per se the expected. I can almost hear my tires making the stereotypical tires-on-wet-pavement sound often hear in movies. During a short stop, I tap the radio on, and the soft acoustics of a song I don’t know calm me some.

For those new to Seattle, the coffee capital of the world, the city seems to burst with coffee shops. But only the natives know where the good ones are. Sure, Starbucks might be heaven, but Lou’s is better, with its cozy atmosphere and the best music, even late at night [or early in the morning].

“The usual?”

“Mmhm.”

“Here ya go. There’s a table by the window, if ya want.” The barista pointed with a finger to a table by the wall of glass. One of the speakers was positioned above on the ceiling, a bonus. I nodded a thanks, and left a small tip on the counter.

A red car was parked outside Lou’s. I think that it was a Mustang. But I’ve never been good at identifying cars [unlike you], so I might have been wrong. But it looked like your car. So you’ll completely understand me when I say that I just had to pull my sketchpad from my bag and draw the stupid thing. It wasn’t that it, the car, itself was something worth drawing [it kinda was, but that’s not the point], but it was the strings attached to it that were.

take a look, hesitate / take a picture you could never recreate

My pencil scratched slightly across the paper, and the steam from my coffee was floating towards my face, warming my ice cold nose and the rest of my face. My nose was probably red just like the car. You would always pinch my nose when it was cold, which had no effect on me because it was so damn numb. But you kept doing it anyway, even after I kept telling you that.

I’m drawing this picture of a car, and thinking about you at four in the morning. How pathetic is that? Even with my thoughts, tears still crept towards the surface until they, like the rain, poured onto the things beneath.