2003-02-23
11:48 a.m.
it's not happened yet boy
Well, the Sadies were grand. Boot-knocking, hip-shimmying, lip-curling music for a sweet night with the ladyfriend. We woke up in spring and went to bed in winter, but that layer of ice over the snow is making a delightful whomp! whomp! sound with every step, and the trees are coated. A little ice storm to keep me on my toes. * See, I would lie naked on your dock while you sat on the shore with a borrowed guitar. I heard these progressions over and over for a year, would hope that those chords were for me, that the words I so evilly read would be about my hands, my eyes. And they weren't, evidenced by this list of seven songs, none of them for me. I think about the ways I was betrayed, still, two years later. Two years later your voice still sends worry and shakes through me. Two years later I still catch myself being slightly grateful when I collapse like this, because at least I was skinny back then. When I was too fucking terrified and heartbroken to eat. For a year. There are obvious solutions to my non-problems. Complete silence. A small room, soundproofed. Dark, dark sunglasses to cover bruises. I just can't help feeling like I'm too easy to fuck with. but a pre-emptive strike incites a crowd
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