Certainly not thinking of you

My alarm clock rings and I'm certainly not thinking of you.
It rings again. I drag myself out of bed. (still not thinking of you)
One piece of burnt whole grain toast forces itself out of a dirty toaster and as I scrape the burnt black layer off with a butter knife I'm not thinking of you and I'm not thinking about you eating toast. My hands shake on the cold steering wheel and 88.1FM doesn't remind me of you and my hands certainly don't think of you. I'm walking through the crowded, lonely halls and I'm not thinking about how you are walking right behind me and I'm trying to look interesting because I'm trying to remember that I'm not thinking about how you are walking right behind me.


I'm not thinking about you like the moon doesn't think about us while it watches us sleep.
I'm not thinking about you like the chickens in the backyard don't think about us eating their eggs.
I'm not thinking about you like cement doesn't think about our constant bug-murdering and dirty shoes.
Like the bread doesn't think about rising and like the fire doesn't think about burning. Like physics doesn't think about chemistry and like the paintbrush doesn't think about the artist creating its brush strokes.


I don't think about you about as much as I don't think about death, and I think about death a lot.
Death like falling out of an airplane without a parachute or like getting eaten by a shark or getting shot one day. Or all three at the same time.


I certainly would not be thinking about you if I was dying. I hopefully would not be.


I'm not thinking about you, and I'm not thinking about you reading this, and I'm not thinking about that today is Valentine's day and how you might be thinking about me. I'm not thinking of that.


{Remember when we used to think of each other? Remember when we used to think about us, and your freckles and my bumpy nose, and our own thoughts? Remember when we used to admit it?}



And I'm not admitting now because you aren't admitting and that's how love works, isn't it? Isn't love only a constant cycle of dependency ringing endlessly for nourishment and longing to be held? I'll stop thinking about you if you stop thinking about me, because my thoughts feed on your thoughts, and my love lives off of yours. The existence of love can only survive when nurtured and encouraged by an equal and additional love; it requires dependence on another to increase in value. And our value is dropping. Our stocks aren't being purchased and our stockholders are withdrawing their funds. So I'm not thinking about you.


I'm not thinking about you like the cotton plantation slaves didn't think about their skin color.
I'm not thinking about you like my brother doesn't think about minecraft.
I'm not thinking about you like the fresh-cut fries never think about a good-looking chocolate frosty.
Like your elbows never think about the superiority of your knees and like her eyelashes never think about her mascara and like the 'a' key never thinks about the 'L.' Like the commercial men don't think about anything but money and like the the TOMS foundation doesn't think about anything but African children.



I finish my work and I'm not thinking about you.
I'm waiting in line at the bank and I'm certainly not thinking about you or your money.
I'm squirting saline solution into two empty eyes of a contact solution case and I'm not thinking about your eyes. I scrub my face and take one long look at the pink and red blur of a face in the mirror. I'm scrutinizing myself and I know I'm not good enough to be thinking of you. I'm laying on a firm mattress and curling up next to the cold sensation of a pillow and I'm not thinking of you or your cold feet. Its 11:11 and I'm certainly not thinking of you and I'm certainly not wishing for you and I'm certainly not. I'm just not. My eyelids close and I'm not thinking of you.

My alarm clock rings and I'm certainly not thinking of you.

{I felt like this was necessary.}

{I mean the Nutella. Nothing else necessary at all.}

"Well, now,
if little by little you stop loving me
I shall stop loving you little by little.

If suddenly 
you forget me
do not look for me, 
for I shall already have forgotten you."
                                     --Pablo Neruda

{Alice}