the grim reapers got nothing on me
shirley died last week, and i'm wondering how many more times i can wear the shoes i bought that only go with the one outfit i have for funerals. she found me in the middle of the street at two, just after i learned how to open doors. a grandmother when mine was running from her past. the ladies used to gossip on her front porch when i was a kid. just left my parents and her front light is on. impossible, you'd think, if you didn't know that she has it on a timer for when her and jim would spend their winters in myrtle beach. i watched over their house for them. had my own key and everything. jim went almost two falls ago. she was at her sons and tripped, hit her head on the pavement. and that was it
she makes three for the summer. you'd think it would teach me something, but i haven't been able to piece together a damn thing.
and greg hates me for not liking him. i can feel it. i pull back so he can't get the wrong idea, and he gets exactly the right idea.
tim's barely audible. i haven't heard his voice in weeks, and i miss it more than you can imagine.
erin loves me, and i needed to hear it. telepathy may just be your gift.
and then there's ryan. we spent an hour at meijers yesturday smelling deodorant and trying on sunglasses. it's nice to have a friend. he ventured over here, and stepped inside for the first time since february. his first comment: where's your computer. when i replyed "in the spare". he lifted his eyebrows, and countered "the spare?" with great incredulity. he checked out the spare, ventured over to my room, and his second comment was: you have a small bed. his cousin was behind him--mike. mike reminds me of superman/clark kent. really composed as clark kent, but i bet there's something really spectacular underneath it. he makes the best quesadilla's.
and i, emily, am completely lost in myself and in everyone else. i'm trying to remember why i wanted to stop being afraid. i think if i keep trying it might come back to me
she makes three for the summer. you'd think it would teach me something, but i haven't been able to piece together a damn thing.
and greg hates me for not liking him. i can feel it. i pull back so he can't get the wrong idea, and he gets exactly the right idea.
tim's barely audible. i haven't heard his voice in weeks, and i miss it more than you can imagine.
erin loves me, and i needed to hear it. telepathy may just be your gift.
and then there's ryan. we spent an hour at meijers yesturday smelling deodorant and trying on sunglasses. it's nice to have a friend. he ventured over here, and stepped inside for the first time since february. his first comment: where's your computer. when i replyed "in the spare". he lifted his eyebrows, and countered "the spare?" with great incredulity. he checked out the spare, ventured over to my room, and his second comment was: you have a small bed. his cousin was behind him--mike. mike reminds me of superman/clark kent. really composed as clark kent, but i bet there's something really spectacular underneath it. he makes the best quesadilla's.
and i, emily, am completely lost in myself and in everyone else. i'm trying to remember why i wanted to stop being afraid. i think if i keep trying it might come back to me