Kelli Woodworth

Sweet Nothings, a Zuihitsu
Kelli Woodworth

I miss waking up and feeling the sun stick to my peeling skin. I miss my summer smile, the windows of my friend’s car down with the sunroof open as we drove past the ocean.  

I spy with my little tired eye tiny as a firefly a pebble that we picked up last July. 

When I was 12, you spilled your coffee on me when I begged you to try it. It burned and I haven’t tried to drink it since. I didn’t like the taste anyways.     

Down deep inside your pocket, we almost forgot it, does it ever miss Wicklow sometimes?

Humans are the only animals that blush.

I’ve been avoiding eye contact with you all week because I’m scared of how I feel. We no longer greet each other by staring intently. You stopped saying my name in a different tone than you say everyone else's.     

They said the end is coming. Everyone’s up to something. I find myself running home to your sweet nothings.  

I couldn’t feel my toes after practice yesterday. I ran to my car when I was told it was over and turned on the heat before heading home.  

Outside they’re push and shoving. You’re in the kitchen humming. All that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing.

As a kid, I was constantly told I had this amazing imagination. No one says that to me anymore and I wonder if that means it went away. 

On the way home I wrote poem, you say, “what a mind” this happens all the time.

Four is the only number that is spelled with the same number of letters as itself. Four is my favorite number.  

There is a light on in my car, but I don’t know what it means, so I haven’t gotten it looked at yet. Knowing myself I won’t do anything until my car breaks down. I ignore all the signs.  

Industry disrupters and soul deconstructors. 

Sometimes I tell stupid lies that I don’t mean. I don’t know why I do it, my thoughts spill out of me before I have time to think about what I’m doing.  

And smooth-talking hucksters out glad-handling each other.

I think we’re making progress, but I’m not totally sure. I told you how I felt and you told me how you did and then nothing happened. Nothing is still happening.  

And the voices that implore...

I drink hot chocolate instead of coffee when my friends ask to go to Starbucks. It makes me feel warm inside instead of burning my pink leggings.  

“You should be doing more.”

Summer won’t be back for months, my freckles have faded and my skin is starting to dry up now, reminding me it’s over.    

To you I can admit

You celebrate my imagination even when I dislike my ideas and want to crumble my thoughts on paper into a ball and throw it in the trash. I’m always reassured by your sweet nothings.   

…that I’m just too soft for all of it. 

* This piece is based on, and weaves in, Taylor Swift’s lyrics from her song “Sweet Nothing” 

Author's Note: I enjoy writing because it is a way to express ideas that I sometimes can't bring myself to say otherwise.  It is a creative outlet for me, and I write a lot in my free time.  I mostly like to write poetry, but I wrote this piece for my writer's workshop class.