#ANYWAY TONIGHT I WROTE A PARAGRAPH ABOUT JEREMIAH IN LOVE WITH THE WEATHERMAN

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

btw

CHANGING STATES

Lately, something has taken hold / of me—not hunger, not shame. It is like a flower / blooming in the injury. —Richie Hofmann

On the evening Jeremiah decides he’ll drive thirty hours to Maryland, the other half of his mattress is cold and Madonna’s on the radio. In his bedroom, he taps his cigarette on the windowsill, the ash scattering into rainy blue hour, and listens. Time goes by so slowly, she goes, her voice singed through his boombox’s broken speakers. He’s meant to replace it, though he’s meant to do a lot of things: check the mail, make a quiche, buy lightbulbs, call his sister, take up cross-stitch, recycle an olive jar, move his bed to the opposite side of his room. But time goes by so slowly, and Jeremiah would know—he’s twenty-one, yet feels he’s been alive for much, much longer.