:in caring

I met a girl
in the bar
who only drank
clear liquor
and she laughed
at all my jokes
and twirled her
hair around those
skinny fingers
of hers
we were drunk
but only slightly
she asked me where
I was spending the night
but smiled like
she already knew
we had sex in
her bed even though
I have never dreamt
in it before
and did not know
her name or even
her favorite color
only that she
liked to sleep on
silk sheets and
had a few pictures
of James Dean
hanging on the wall
by morning I called her
pretty and knew her
favorite color was red
that was the color
of the lipstick that
stained my neck
and she didn’t look
beautiful when she
slept or even cute
she only looked like
a stranger, or someone
I hardly knew
and I felt like
an intruder
so I left and
tried not to imagine
us being in love
or remembering
the freckles
on her legs
after she
eventually left me
I walked down the
stairs and out into
the street where
everything was thoughtless
and dirty just
like I am
and didn’t feel a
thing, because
what is white will
become blackened
and who we love
will eventually die
or follow their dreams
to some place better
so what is
really the point
in caring to