(no subject)
what i think is, the guitar can stay in the corner. and ill do what i want. and sometimes what i think i want, i realize i dont actually want once i have it. like the cigarette i stole before he left. or the drive there, and back. ive taken seven pairs of shoes i dont wear and turned them into two that i do. and both of them are brown. and my back hurts and suddenly i dont mind that love isn't on the list.
because in october i open my windows and let the candles burn to the bottom of the wick. and from where i sit, still, there doesn't need to be motion because i can still enjoy the arc lines of geometric victorian architecture leaning into the props of this room. my grandmothers oval mirror. the retro desk chair that scares me when i lean too far back. the convex line of my kitten by the window pane. an old guitar full of love, or the reaching for it. in october i dont care about you.
there's something warm about far away. two year old pumpkins and six year old what ifs. my heart is sea urchin. my heart is the smoke that curls through the room. i ache in tangerine, i lie in crimson, i wish in perrywinkle, and i go on about the days as if i were free. he says thank you a lot. and i dont say much.
but i can hear the wind blowing through the trees outside my window.
its a much better conversation.
and im safe.
because in october i open my windows and let the candles burn to the bottom of the wick. and from where i sit, still, there doesn't need to be motion because i can still enjoy the arc lines of geometric victorian architecture leaning into the props of this room. my grandmothers oval mirror. the retro desk chair that scares me when i lean too far back. the convex line of my kitten by the window pane. an old guitar full of love, or the reaching for it. in october i dont care about you.
there's something warm about far away. two year old pumpkins and six year old what ifs. my heart is sea urchin. my heart is the smoke that curls through the room. i ache in tangerine, i lie in crimson, i wish in perrywinkle, and i go on about the days as if i were free. he says thank you a lot. and i dont say much.
but i can hear the wind blowing through the trees outside my window.
its a much better conversation.
and im safe.