Can I be your Eva?
I feel like broken glass today. Shaken, in a tiny, tin-y sardine can.
It's a strange and awe-inspiring notion. I just wish nimble fingers and a brain would catch up -- I'm bursting. It's not in a sad way, of course, nothing that should worry you or needs to be worried over. Just a standard... misplaced sort of observation, I guess. I feel like taking things up a notch, but I don't where the burner is and this city is a big, lonely place sometimes. You can't help but feel restless and starved here, that's all people seem to know.
So where to start? Always at the beginning or always with the edges? It's normal to have your life lull like this, so I feel blissful and ignorant and totally unaware. I guess that's why I can't help but identify with him. We both live our lives a cocoon, so where does all that bad stuff get packed away? Not everything is black and white and certainly not grey. So where do we fit it all in? In that clumsy mid-left where everything gets blurry and people just assume white is white is white?
He's cute when he does it, so there's the advantage. I'm cute too, but cuteness only stays with you for so long. There's nothing attractive about a full-grown adult dodging all the blows. I may bat my lashes now, but that kind of black widow attitude only goes so far when that age catches up to you and you just feel dusty, boneless, and over worn.
But, yeah... Thanks, my ever silent companion, for making things even easier and harder then they ever should be. You're crushing flavor of despondent, but I like it... So keep it coming and maybe we can make something interesting for a change.
I will figure everything out. Don't you worry. In the meantime... where are you, my Diabolik?
