(no subject)
i've got sticky fingers gumming up keys from sticking my hand in polyeurathane...not to be repeated. scrubbing, furiously, futily.
during one of my long daydreams at work, i faded back to those days of ballet lessons:
of sitting outside the dressing room dutifully. waiting for the sound of my mother's keys to head towards me. Wanting so badly to leave, so desperate for that sound, that clinking of keys...
i will patiently wait, because i always have and always do.