I apologize for the inconvenience,
but I can't be your saviour.
See,
I'm only 18.
And I don't have enough words.
My parents threw them across the kitchen counter last night and I'm far too tired to sweep them off the hardwood floor.
They're paperweights, anyways.
I know I picked up the phone at 11:08 tonight but between curfew and my 9am client I'll have to refer you to a specialist.
See,
18 doesn't have enough words to fill the chapel tomorrow morning. Girlhood is still occupied with drowning out feminism and Monday's are still for reliving Saturday's and Tuesday's are still for drawing out Friday and graduation and stats homework and everything else 18 hasn't done quite yet.
See,
I can't help you, but I'll give you the name of a qualified colleague.
Once he told me that Chris Kyle was a prophet just like Anis and Moses and this new boy you talk about may let you sit shotgun and take pictures with you in front of Temple Square and he may know which lyrics still vibrate behind your eyes but he won't have enough words either. Not enough to fill your Wednesday's and your Thursday's and those are the days when you need heavy words the most. Heavy words to pull you all the way to the chapel Sunday morning.
See,
Paperweights are supposed to get along with gravity.
And physics never quite applied at 18.
- 11:35 PM
- 10 Comments
