2002-11-13
6:59 p.m.
it was
the implication is, of course, that I'm worth it. that I somehow would deserve it. that all these rainfall advisories are for my sake, get outside you won't be sorry, and by rainfall advisory, I mean, of course, not that in the slightest. (if I were one to say "make no mistake," I would say it now - because it is raining, the drizzling namesake kind earlier and now faster, wetter, more seeping. my hair is curled.) I can't trust you to tell me the truth about yourself, and I mean that. I can't find those truths for myself because I don't have the energy; I'm too busy living according to what the projected you would want. this is messy, and it's universal, and every time I think I have myself sorted, I remember that it's not sorted the way I'd like most. I come back to this every year; these few months are turning into a complex exercise in vanity, glass stairs above and sharp heels below. what about the cold, when skin is covered with three layers at least - what now? where do eyesfingerslips rest? that I can't trust you to tell me who you are; nor myself to figure it out. that I'm worth it. that rain makes its own night. that it's night, I'm tired, and I don't want to go to bed alone anymore. so close to perfect
|