louchelush
I loved that dress, I said. It's a pity I have to have it taken in.
What do you mean, she asked.
Oh nothing, I said. I had a rib taken out. It was the only thing that would let my heart beat to its content.
He wasn't real; he wasn't even who he said he was supposed to be. "You're lying to me," she accused. "You're a shadow of him, you're nothing to me."
They call it rheumatism, and then they said it was arthritis. That's just a physical diagnosis. To me it's just the ache left in my knee from falling to my knees one too many times in supplication that my path would lead me to you, somehow, just somehow.
life with him was odd, strangely isolated; he was never quite there, but he could always reach her if she wanted to. she felt like she was always walking on stilts, balancing here and there to make sure she didn't upset him or the status quo too much, and it was all she could to hold on and not fall completely apart.
In the rough and ready tumble of this world all I really have is you and your hands. So hold me tight, don't let go and I promise to make it worth your while.
She felt like she was in a washer, tumbling about to the whims of a twisted, uncaring deity. "You can't just say that and walk away, you just can't", she said, not realising then that he very well could, and that was the whole point of it all.
I had a pair of shoes in red suede, size 8, with three-inch heels. You loved it when I wore them, even though they made me taller than you. So I took them out last night and smashed them to pieces with a hammer. It was all I could bear to do. What was I supposed to do, wear them again? I couldn't bear to.
we're a pair of restless anchors, forever getting tangled up in each other. you love me and i love you too but that isn't enough, that's never been enough, just a pair of hearts and my stupid brain that can't understand, can't comprehend (please try to get me, please) that you're cheating me.
I ran all the way - six thousand miles away so I could be away from you - and I sat in a museum and I saw this painting strung up on a wall, a beauty - a goddamn beauty in this alien place. It was you in that painting, you in the string, in the frame, in Picasso's signature.
It's you everywhere.
it's like you know how bad you are for me (you know it don't lie) and yet you carry on as you do and i'm strung up here (hanging on) (just hanging on) and i don't know how to do this and i don't know what i'm waiting for anymore.