house sitting
I used to marvel at long languishing sentences capturing life just so. Imagined my life some morose sad spinsterly existence. I thought it romantic, the stuff folktales are made of, complete in my empty loathing. Happy only in my loneliness. Telling others my fantasies of a highly intellectualized, bourgeois life, writing my books from the comfort of my well kept brown stone, shutting others out. Secretly I craved something different, happiness with others a secret attention whore (maybe not so secret) locking myself in the bonds of false modesty.
But I sit here in my cousin's apartment, daydreaming of something different. A life where I don't cause my worst fears to become reality. where I don't push others away, I let them see me, and don't reject me. I can not lead a joyless life. I want to smile and be happy. I can no longer think, because I've contemplated every moment for 18 years, and still I don't live. I just think about it, wonder what it would be like. i know what I've chosen, and I'm going to stick to it.
I know what I want my life to be, and I must make it so...
I can keep the brownstone in my fantasy, but I share it with others... close friends, their families and perhaps one of my own. A husband, a man who would love, not strictly in Passion but with words often unsaid... People I can cook for, sew for, babysit...
Though I see these things I don't paint myself into a domestic corner, I will write, and use my voice for radio, perhaps even copy write.. so I will not be kept, even by the man without words.
But I sit here in my cousin's apartment, daydreaming of something different. A life where I don't cause my worst fears to become reality. where I don't push others away, I let them see me, and don't reject me. I can not lead a joyless life. I want to smile and be happy. I can no longer think, because I've contemplated every moment for 18 years, and still I don't live. I just think about it, wonder what it would be like. i know what I've chosen, and I'm going to stick to it.
I know what I want my life to be, and I must make it so...
I can keep the brownstone in my fantasy, but I share it with others... close friends, their families and perhaps one of my own. A husband, a man who would love, not strictly in Passion but with words often unsaid... People I can cook for, sew for, babysit...
Though I see these things I don't paint myself into a domestic corner, I will write, and use my voice for radio, perhaps even copy write.. so I will not be kept, even by the man without words.