(no subject)
je suis contente. and that line plays out over and over in my head on some neverending reel of tape. like that movie about that girl and her soldier man who goes off to fight for the current unpresidented cause. but that is all prearranged; these things just happen. the trees are bare and dying, and these things dont just happen. i miss you. and he says this far too many times for it to have any meaning. like something he would say to the sun if the clouds hid it for a moment. and i am not the sun, but i know my way around. and i am not a star, but i exist quite distinctly in the world. and i am not your type, but i know what it means to fit.