June

Sometimes I get really sad.

I used to think that I want to be a sad and beautiful (sad because she's beautiful, beautiful because she's sad) person.
A girl
who can say, "He's in love with me." and "He goes to school for photography." in the same tone of voice.

I think that was because I was living with my aunt.
She smoked cigarettes during those two years I lived with her and the whole time I had absolutely no clue.
She never ate but drank five cups of coffee everyday. Even when she came to pick me up whenever I called, painted my toes in red every week("it's the only acceptable color on toes") and watched Project Runway with me on lazy afternoons, I could still picture her having affairs with really attractive men.
One day she asked for a picture of me and kept it in her wallet. I sometimes wonder where that picture is right now.

She hasn't been in a single dream since.

When she wanted to talk to me about something serious, her voice always brightened up. As if she's trying to be a clown; a clown who wears outlandish makeup and costumes and juggles, walks a tightrope, and does tricks gracefully on a flying trapeze to make his audience forget about gravity. We both knew we were never going to be real astronauts and be in space where there is no gravity, so we kept on being clowns. Trying to convince each other to forget about something.

I miss her. She became the 'gravity.' Except I don't ever want to forget about it.