(no subject)
We apologize for all the things we cannot accomplish. On the phone yesterday I told a friend how things are not always possible and you cannot jump off the roof and not hit the pavement and you cannot put your torso on backward and you cannot be forgiven for a petty mistake you made months ago because most people don't care what you have to say about pain. My body is defined by the spaces where I most feel that pain - my back, my sides, my abdomen - and this is pointless to have explained when she was no longer listening.
She said the world is defined by the night of the electrical storm and we sat in the center of the road, more drunk than either of us had ever been, and a lightening bolt struck the house we were facing and we watched as flames ripped it apart. Two elderly people stood on the roof and a dog barked from just behind the front door and your roommate called for help. While we waited for the firetrucks to come help the people down we couldn't find our way to our feet and we saw the shadow crossing the windows and we heard the dog go silent and we watched the woman sob uncontrollably while her husband looked confused. This was you and I, and we finally could have done something with the lives we wish we didn't have and all we did was listen to a dog die in a burning house. I wondered why I don't always brake at stop signs and you wondered why we swallowed pills in high school and when the news reporters asked what happened, the owners cried for their house that collapsed into what looked like nothing more than a landfill.
You and I were glazed over teenagers asking if Christ can save a dead dog.
She said the world is defined by the night of the electrical storm and we sat in the center of the road, more drunk than either of us had ever been, and a lightening bolt struck the house we were facing and we watched as flames ripped it apart. Two elderly people stood on the roof and a dog barked from just behind the front door and your roommate called for help. While we waited for the firetrucks to come help the people down we couldn't find our way to our feet and we saw the shadow crossing the windows and we heard the dog go silent and we watched the woman sob uncontrollably while her husband looked confused. This was you and I, and we finally could have done something with the lives we wish we didn't have and all we did was listen to a dog die in a burning house. I wondered why I don't always brake at stop signs and you wondered why we swallowed pills in high school and when the news reporters asked what happened, the owners cried for their house that collapsed into what looked like nothing more than a landfill.
You and I were glazed over teenagers asking if Christ can save a dead dog.