(no subject)
she's sprawled on the cold hardwood floor, listening intently to the grinding of the needle on the record, and she thinks maybe it's not so bad after all. she's making decisions about moving south and emulating the only person she's got left to envy, and she's not worried that maybe she'll be leaving him behind, because she knows he loves her enough to find her under the shade of the maple trees. every moment is just an increment of time that she can't explain, but she knows the cold will break and her face will burn bright in the heat of august and the words will flow down interstates and overpasses and she won't be so tired from the comparisons that she never thought she could live up to, anyway. 'you can be whoever you want to be, you know?' and yes, she knows. she just never saw a point in trying until now. she will be somebody before this life is over.