you never said i need you, i don't need you.
i can't get this song out of my head, can't concentrate on anything but replaying it there. it's amazing, upon writing about one memory, how many other details spring forward. today has me struggling to climb out of my childhood, my grandmother's bed, the back porch, the plastic foam seat on the toilet and the smell of vick's vapo rub before falling asleep. things i don't remember talking about. the porcelin doll with the key in her back who played somewhere
over
the
rainbow
and how i cried and cried when she gave it to me, and couldn't explain why. i feel like crying, even now, thinking of that. i hadn't been thinking of it, it just appeared there and forced a lump into my throat. it's been happening all morning.
i'll know what you mean if you ever tell me that you sometimes can't recognize yourself.
over
the
rainbow
and how i cried and cried when she gave it to me, and couldn't explain why. i feel like crying, even now, thinking of that. i hadn't been thinking of it, it just appeared there and forced a lump into my throat. it's been happening all morning.
i'll know what you mean if you ever tell me that you sometimes can't recognize yourself.