Let’s go to bed.

The firecracker pops of scraping and whittling down to rust from a few rooms over keeps a smile on my face.  I like it when we bring things back to their original states.  

Coming round sometimes fills me with so much momentary anger that I barely recognize myself.  I treat myself to an out-of-body experience in an effort to try and trail, then apprehend, these feelings. Interrogate them until they’re dead tired and cannot go on any longer.  It’s like when you wonder, why can’t everything be for everybody?  Yes, it’s like that.  It’s because we’re greedy.  It takes stones to decide that you can let go.  My abilities are not yet that potent.  Harrowing when you remind yourself of time. 

The filing and rubbing away sounds so good to me.

Your silly safety-net.

Worshipping one another like the latent geniuses we are, a tiny culture of discreet jealousy and pettiness.  Can it be swept under the rug?  Are we man enough?  A sad, sluggish “no” marquees across the sky.  Sheepishly I slump back into a coddling love for myself that will last precisely long enough to let the gravity pass me by.  I’m going to make the trip.  I know you retain your yielding love; it might not involve the mirror image, but it certainly holds an impregnable warm logic.

I saw you when you looked back.

I looked back too, only in a reflection.

We have e-vol-ved.

Such flitting about should be cast down upon, and I wished for simpler times; I probably even kept my wrists and ankles covered. How un-u-s-ual, how un-or-di-nary for you. I tried running and skipping but could only manage a flirtatious slight sink, stopping for one nautical jewel and one only. Sets of eyes, all of which are sweet and interested. Sets of hands, all of which dwarf mine in warm comparison. Gorgeous hearts; I crave them. You made me feel free and calm. Thank you for loving me. Thank you for painfully looking away from me. Thank you for a bundle of nerves. Thank you for making me feel lovely once more. : )

This is what we call the Mainland.

I’ve been away, I’ve been gone this week, I haven’t thought for one second to make sure we’re settled because my mind was on the aural intensity, the white lines, the heat reflected and the best shoes for being underwater (up and out, for cryptic island-hopping.  Don’t come round, it’s my turn!). It comes as no surprise, so don’t be surprised by it. What would you have to say to me? I do hope all is square. I do hope all is round. Please let me be terrible, please let me be neurotic. I’m a Pisces, what am I supposed to do? I’m certainly not going to own up to anything!

It isn’t because it seemed exclusive; it is because it had me written all over it. You cheats, you sneaks. This is why I fall short of face-to-face words.

Two turnpikes in one summer still isn’t enough for me. Bye-Bye-Bye.

Keep your mouth open.

Little moments within the month let me know that I’ve made no progress when it makes my heart stop to think of how painfully cool I think you are.  What a terrible curse to place upon someone so unwitting and earnest.  Not that I’m a saint, but I have been carried around on a velvet pillow in more than your mind, and it makes us so much worse.  Sadder and completely losing it.

When I’m finally going inside these places I long heard of I feel ten thousand steps before you and ten times luckier than that.  When I’m cooed to sleep by something different each night I feel a million times better.  I long to be unable to go back to that place.  I just want to feel different.  Stop talking to me/Never leave me.

Where we fight our parents out in the streets to find who’s right and who’s wrong.

Lush and grainy, super-sleepy.  I’m doing well for myself.  I don’t have that one second necessary to alleviate.  Feeling a little woozy and surprised, feeling a little organized.  (You know I didn’t intentionally coordinate that.)  The things I’ve picked up make me Feel, but I haven’t Thought about them in That Way.  Wow, though.  Just wow.  Softie softie softie.

1001 Silver-marker days.

They never know how many you have, you never know how many they have, and it’s impossible for any of us to keep it simple and have none. Remain nonchalant and distracted, wear as many scarves as possible, listen so hard and take it for  granted!

Down in the Lime Tree Arbor.

The mood comes around once or twice a year, at the coldest and hottest times of the dueling seasons.  A mood in which I cannot listen to albums, songs, music, anything, unless its going to make me brood and smoke and pace.  I sometimes have more than I can handle (indirectly, quite good for the scent of one’s home) but I’m always [carefully] open to suggestions. 

Busy busy, it never truly ends.  Pangs of being left-out diminish as I forget and forget and forget.  Sitting on my porch with my eyes squeezed shut, desperately trying to recapture the moment where a photo was taken of a cupcake and myself (“Oh I hope it isn’t terrible”).   I’ve got enough to worry about.  What’s the quickest way to be ready to leave?  How to fix your heart and accounts all at the same time.  Maybe become brave like my father thinks I already am.  I think I’m more ridiculous, secretly desperate and naive than brave, but if it could be mistaken for such, perhaps I should turn my thoughts around.  I need foundations though.

How absolutely hand, leg, torso, arm’s length we are.  People, they ain’t no good.  

 (I think I’m a lot like my cat.)

Why would you say.

This was inside a spam e-mail I got tonight.

“I dreamed that people remembered me after all this time and started coming out here again,” Annie said.

He had burned her broken her back stuffed her tubes full of paper and still still still she was coming.
He had burned her broken her back stuffed her tubes full of paper and still still still she was coming.