full of false starts
In the dark when the lights go out in the room with big open windows letting the breeze in, the sticker stars shine bright neon all around, all around. I'm up listening to Elliott Smith and remembering that night, we heard, and that tiny deathtrap room I lived in - which at least had a window - and lying on that twin bed clutching each other in the dark, eyes wide not knowing what to say. I wished I had driven out to see the dirge, maybe it would have felt closer, more real. I've never been good with clean-cut endings. Death seems like the ultimate severing, but I've never seen the other side. How do I know it's not just...different? All of XO is the summer I turned 16, sitting on the cement balcony with my discman in The Crimea. Telling you in 2005 to listen for a whispered"I love you" on King's Crossing. Searching the Hampshire library for his thesis. I'm just up grinding my teeth and feeding my internet addiction.
You know when you start hitting backspace that it's time to stop rambling. Did anyone else think Royal Tenenbaums was a comedy?
You know when you start hitting backspace that it's time to stop rambling. Did anyone else think Royal Tenenbaums was a comedy?