lydie
destroying the piece of apple with apparent delight, taking pride in its destruction
To hell with it, I'm buying a dress that is way too short.
through space, through time, through the downtown city streets, my gifts, your letters, my love, cargo.
the way my brother used to do his hair, he felt rebellious, independent, because it didn't look right in our family's pew on sunday mornings. Not a straight-laced comb-over like my father.
i hate when my hair turns this color after the red fades out.