laurav
just a minute please then I'll be ready to go. right now, in this minute-- the minute before the minute in which I will be ready to go-- I am feeling so tired. Too tired, in fact, to go. But this minute will be over soon and then, perhaps, in the next minute I will be ready to go. I am looking forward to the next minute because in this minute I feel so very tired, too tired, in fact, to go.
pressing into the windowpane I wrote about them: skeletal.searching. nothing to be afraid of, after all. that it was dark was inconsequential. that I was young was inconsequential. what mattered was the moment of knowing: nothing made to hurt me but, without attention, my own self.
somehow I will make this about him. I will will it so. It will be about him because I am thinking about him, haven't stopped thinking about him since he told me that he had proposed to her and I told him that I was waiting to be proposed to. please understand that I do not want to be with him. rather I miss him, I want to hold him, to feed each other our happiness. or perhaps I want to cradle the possibility of him, little child swaddled up in my arms, and dying. and dead.
flippantly, I asked for his number though no no I didn't ask I wanted to ask I almost asked I did not have the courage to ask. awards spilled on snowy sidewalks and friendly hands assisting with the retrieval, and still me saying "no, no, thank you no" and in my head thinking "I want you, I want you, dear stranger, I want you"
Gddamnit, I already wrote about festivals. I suppose that was before I had an account. Auth-or-iz-ation. and whatnot. Well, what is there to say? That I got super stoned and laid in the tent for a few hours, sticky and languorous in the Tennessee heat? And that there was music, oh-- music.
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