and then winter again.

[slinkster_slam]

i would have ridden on a reindeer or the back of a bird, i would have gone to the north pole and i would have woven a blanket out of the threads of my body. i would have ripped out my hair and had implanted a wig of long silver blond strands, cut my body and sewn on whole new parts. i would have flayed my skin to find a more perfect whiteness beneath. i would have given him my eyes or my heart so that i could live in him, lying in her arms. at least then i could be close to him. these are the things of stories and i couldn't do any of them. all i could do was go back to my room and pull down the blinds and paint.

i painted every story about stolen deadened boys, nearly devoured by evil queens, revived by loving girls. i painted myself ripping out my hair, cutting off parts of me, sewing on new ones. i painted myself on the back of a reindeer. fish girl storm girl mirror girl. but sometimes art can't save you. it had before i met him but now it couldn't.

...

i brought the novel rose and the beast by francesca lia block to my first class this morning in case i arrived early. i was flipping through and found a bookmark at this passage. one of my favorite passages ever. i remember when i put the bookmark there... junior year, french two. sittin' in the corner. i remember when art could save me. nothing can save me now. nothing at all. i take that back, i can save myself.