in a society where everyone wants to be special. its funny how someone is screaming to want to be normal. unless of cus. the contrary of normal here isnt special. but abnormality.
it is often almost too much for her to undertake even basic daily tasks. to shower. to dress. to clean up the house. to wash her clothes. to feed herself. and El. she runs out of all but the most essential foods and doesnt do anything about it until there is nothing left for the dog to eat. you might know Elley. she got her as a puppy. who should be about a year old in 4days. her friends loved Elley almost as much as they love her. you’d love her too. i can imagine she was a wonderful friend. albeit with a mood that couldnt quite get off a swing no matter how sick it made her sometimes. you might remember her father. someone you probably called Uncle. a loud and boisterous man with humour the size of his ego. it was just before he boarded one of those plane things. he was at the airport and i was. of cus. in my little crib. getting the last little bits of my last meal from the bottom of a pot. in between the laundry and vegetative surfings. i could tell by his voice that he was annoyed. with something maybe someone. he’d always tell her but this time he kept mum. something she wished he would always do. i quite agree with her on this. she just didnt need to be put in emotionally and mindlessly compromising situations every then and now. the conversation steered in the direction she needed. not wanted. she feels a sense of relief. amongst the pangs of inconsistent breaths.
that letter piece you mailed her in e that day. with forms of text and doodles. insisting she assessed it only when you have left tuesday for monday. she nearly said it. i couldnt believe it. not because she just wasnt capable of it. but that she could almost consciously act on it. she imagines calling and giving more than she actually does. it must have been the laughter. the carefree laughter. the chain phone calls. the in-jokes. the instant music. the sunlight you carried with you. the way she felt when you spoke to her friends. the earnesty of your three-words. the tiny underwears. the private dancing. the good-graced acceptance of shifting part-time work. the apparent absence of expectations. the indiscreet coaches and that other transportation. the uncompromising estimation of distance. the constant venues. the ever-changing menus. the big time roles. the little boy blues. the feminine. the feminist. and the way you surprise with the air of one making a salad.
you would love the way she sees you.
she uses you as a weapon against herself not because you do. she thinks of you when the woman lying next to her thinks she’s asleep. do you remember you thought her beautiful? you never told her. she has to assume it. she was beautiful and is now. some years later. even more so. not always thou. first thing in the morning or after she abuses ivy and then herself. of late it has been no more of a problem with her then it is with herself. which is to say. of late the substance itself is no cause for alarm. but there is a secret need to have her inhibitors inhibited. in her case. this is merely the tip of an older and more fundamental iceberg.
and she loves the way you see her. through.
current aural of walking the men - In The Dark by Tiesto.
