scrawls.

scrawls

still cheaper than therapy*

29.4.10

i know it is spring because the fountains aren't turned off any more and when i walk past an open window somebody is playing the Blues Brothers inside. and i? I walk across a fire. I see things, i hear things, in the name of all that is holy i hear things and how i keep from tearing out my hair is worthy of a medal. I cut my hair at midnight, again, like it's a hobby.

It's now time, she says, i never know quite what she means, the loops of logic are not all connected yet, but she says it and there it is.

She thinks he's coming home, she says that too. None of this is easy, but that ain't easy.

Labels: separation

scrawled @ 15:52

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