(no subject)
i have this sudden urge for poetry, the kind of words that fly off of his heavy tongue through my livingroom. the melodious whispers and overeducated phrasing that leaves me wishing i were better read. these are the reasons that your phone call was so welcome this afternoon.
i find myself settling into some affixed configuration. this concrete that i have been laboring over for days willnever settle in the way that i have. how can one find themselves so set in their aspirations so soon? what makes me think that i wont get sick of this as i did with all of the others?
the window has been closed for days and nothing comes in now but the sun...only in fragments...only when i forget to block it out.
i find myself settling into some affixed configuration. this concrete that i have been laboring over for days willnever settle in the way that i have. how can one find themselves so set in their aspirations so soon? what makes me think that i wont get sick of this as i did with all of the others?
the window has been closed for days and nothing comes in now but the sun...only in fragments...only when i forget to block it out.