How your touch hurts when we're in love
with other people.
It hurts to remember how it feels to hurt, but more quickly do we forget how it hurts to feel.
She told me about the option with apostrophe sparks in her eyes. They flickered with danger, new and fierce in its vast opportunity for regret. But regret is black and success is white...set wide apart with no colors to fall in the space between. You land on first deck or you splash into the water, never to resurface. The look on her face was indicative of all this.
She hated the idea of family to begin with. Her father back on the birth island had many loves, and his wife beared many children, some owed none to his actions. Their family was laden with poverty and the burden of a color they couldn't rub off, one they felt inhibiting of attaining the material glory they so diligently sought.
My own failing concept of this obsolete structure spawned from entirely different reasons. I grew up on a military base, one parent who was my father and several masculine women who couldn't take charge their own maternal instincts. They had to raise me. And of course they hated men because they were all molested. And of course one day when I hit eleven and I was out playing in the field, I was too. By a young soldier. Too young to be in the army, they later found. He was sent to rehab, the case discarded to save the recruiters. God bless America indeed.
So there we sat at a time certainly well past minute, the letters curly cuing and hypnotically swooping us into it. A web of opportunity for wealth at our fingertips, self-annhilation knocking plaintively on the window outside, beckoning to be let in.
We let it in, see. We thought it was stuffy until we realized to late we hadn't been breathing in the first place.
It was then when our tale was set into motion, propelling itself forward on its own kinetic energy. I will push myself like an ass through the barnyard to write it all down as it unhatches. The whole bloody thing. Life has never been so terribly frightening. I have never been so amazingly off balance, out of focus, smeared in with an angry thumb.
It hurts to remember how it feels to hurt, but more quickly do we forget how it hurts to feel.
She told me about the option with apostrophe sparks in her eyes. They flickered with danger, new and fierce in its vast opportunity for regret. But regret is black and success is white...set wide apart with no colors to fall in the space between. You land on first deck or you splash into the water, never to resurface. The look on her face was indicative of all this.
She hated the idea of family to begin with. Her father back on the birth island had many loves, and his wife beared many children, some owed none to his actions. Their family was laden with poverty and the burden of a color they couldn't rub off, one they felt inhibiting of attaining the material glory they so diligently sought.
My own failing concept of this obsolete structure spawned from entirely different reasons. I grew up on a military base, one parent who was my father and several masculine women who couldn't take charge their own maternal instincts. They had to raise me. And of course they hated men because they were all molested. And of course one day when I hit eleven and I was out playing in the field, I was too. By a young soldier. Too young to be in the army, they later found. He was sent to rehab, the case discarded to save the recruiters. God bless America indeed.
So there we sat at a time certainly well past minute, the letters curly cuing and hypnotically swooping us into it. A web of opportunity for wealth at our fingertips, self-annhilation knocking plaintively on the window outside, beckoning to be let in.
We let it in, see. We thought it was stuffy until we realized to late we hadn't been breathing in the first place.
It was then when our tale was set into motion, propelling itself forward on its own kinetic energy. I will push myself like an ass through the barnyard to write it all down as it unhatches. The whole bloody thing. Life has never been so terribly frightening. I have never been so amazingly off balance, out of focus, smeared in with an angry thumb.