I write Rivers.

I said a while back that I hoped I would never write of you- and now I write rivers. It's unfortunate for you that I have the mind of an author because I will never see things quite clearly. What you access as merely a situation I observe. I am obsessed with seeing. What you cast in broad daylight, I extract from dirty cobwebs. What you write in size 12 times new roman, I scribble in the margins. In the end, we have the same knick knack resting warmly in our palms, but it's the process that is different.

If there is anything I love more than you, my sweet, it is ambition. If there is anything that I lap at like a babe to it's mother, it is drive. There are marks on the backs of my knees from hitting myself with a cane so I am urged to advance. I wear knee high socks to cover bruises. I am addicted to success and even more so the journey to acquiring it. This isn't to say that you hinder me from success, nobody can do that. But what might have been lost for you would never have been an issue for me. In my frenzy of rapid narcissism I have come to realize I will not accept stagnancy. It's why my fingers are rubbed raw and my feet cracked and bloody, I am in a hurry to constantly create.

It's even more narcissistic to be attracted to elements of your own personality but I can't help but be infatuated with human drive. The little sparks that bounce around in someone's belly, that spout out from between their lips when they speak- they ignite my bones. If there is anything that attracts me more than just pure love, it's someones desire to be something, to defy what they are for their own emotional perpetual survival.

You are happy to stand in one place and your immobility breeds reptiles of the mind. They slither out of all your pores and the waxy canals in your ears and they hiss at me and spit venom, tempting me to tell you "no." There's something we have irrefutably in common and it is addiction. You are addicted to doing everything you can to not love me like I should be loved and I do everything I can to be ignorant in your favor. I adore you and damn me that I do, my morals are tainted.

I don't know what I believe anymore. I don't believe in God, or myself, or certainly you. I depend on ink and box cutters and dissonance to get myself through what distantly resembles a normal day- step after step in the effort of seeing a glimmer of determination in your face. I want you to push for something; a career, a goal, or even me. I want you to so bad.

You've realized that I'm a woman of words and that is a blessing and a curse because just as no one reads the words inside the book if the jacket isn't lovely- your words do no good unless you embody them.

I'm forced now to write rivers, currents that I never wanted to write.

When you slip into a haze, it disgusts me.
When you're a bigot, I want to slap you.
When you speak of your future as though it doesn't matter,
it makes me want to give up on you.

You constantly say I have to believe in you but it's difficult to believe in you when you are the one rittling away little bits of what used to be my confidence. Your lack of ambition is pulling me apart into bloody fragments.

I'm tired of talking and being talked at. I'm tired of you selling me on your newfound resolutions that never come to pass.

My good nature and I are tired of being taken advantage of.

I'm tired of your God Damned excuses.

Do with me what you will, but if you leave me you will taste me in your bourbon and in the smoke on your tongue and with each exhaltation of your supposed rebellion and anarchy, realize that you are most dejected of conformists because you have never fought for anything in your life. And with each second of sedation, you succumb even further to being completely and totally

average.