(no subject)
it's something about the way he moves, you know? she says in a dazed state, swirling her finger round and round in the sand. no, i've never noticed the way he moves. i replyed. that's the way it's supposed to be. i don't notice men. don't you ever miss him? she asks the air. that's why i've never noticed your man. i miss my own too much. she stopped swirling her finger. we're a tangled bunch aren't we. she states. like an old song, i say. it's been this way since we were little. she says. when did it start? i asked her, knowing she didn't know the answer. i don't know. she says.
when the one who feeds you is singing rent in the next room and the one who pays for you is sitting on public transportation and the one who loves you is millions of miles away where do you turn? impossible crushes, washing machine scars, my mother cannot sing soprano.
i'm just a blur of obscure cultural references that don't exsist. watch me try and stumble. that is what's good in this world. oh the pain of becoming a woman, i am wrapped in that pain. like a big GROW UP blanket. i sent a message to dugan today. i wonder if julia gave it to him. i hope so.
when the one who feeds you is singing rent in the next room and the one who pays for you is sitting on public transportation and the one who loves you is millions of miles away where do you turn? impossible crushes, washing machine scars, my mother cannot sing soprano.
i'm just a blur of obscure cultural references that don't exsist. watch me try and stumble. that is what's good in this world. oh the pain of becoming a woman, i am wrapped in that pain. like a big GROW UP blanket. i sent a message to dugan today. i wonder if julia gave it to him. i hope so.