Pretty Girls Make Graves

[poorlywritten]

Forget the fading beauty and that which comes with age. The heat will dwindle and the breeze will set in through my window for keeps. Cat Power will play. Until then, there's the lights after dark, crawling past the grass and a couple thousand encounters to blend into one memory a reluctant 5000 years from now.
Summer. Omit my mother, my father, my family and the projected infatuations, lamented and forgotten.



Heat. Wash. Pretension.



Count by 3's.



One can't be first in everything, but I'd fill a day with pleasantries to the limit-- comfort food and blue skies.



Bustling diners and a nice boy with a halfway smirk.



Shutterclick and stunning.



I can't see her face but I'm not ashamed to think that the link extends beyond secret smiles in crowds.



My favorite gentleman, lounging on a porchswing with a Guiness and a cigar.



The only incentive to come with age.



A baby's sling with a person outlined in pins.




This just about sums up everything.



"I sang myself raw."



To fall into green. Outside and inside. And surrounding.



Lights.



Camera.



Obsession.

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