novembre ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- stoneridge there is a sadness that both of us can feel and try to move around within. a functioning, dried up thing because i cried all i could and she's unavoidably hurt. we feel aged and dented. there is a common ground awash in sadness. the mall is a strange place. when i was a teenager i would have collapsing panic attacks inside malls, any mall. the piped in music. the temperature control and the stale air. the lighting. the severely anticipated placement of every little thing. (this mall is called stoneridge. its name is too close to stonehenge and i am constantly expecting to see giant pillars framing a grass circle.) heather kept coming in and checking on me as i paced the isles in sephora, eyeing tiny compacts and smearing lip gloss on my wrists. i'm not ready yet, i tell her. (in my peripheral vision there is 3/4 of the store waiting for me to sift through and stare at every calculated bottle of scented shampoo, tinted eyeliner and individually wrapped eyebrow brush.) she wanders off and comes back again, and we repeat this several times before i finish exploring. we walk out without buying anything, heather walking quickly in front of me, head slightly down and eyes forward. the saleslady tells us to have a good day and while i nod distractedly heather remembers to thank her and wish her one, too. it's funny how you love shopping for makeup but you don't even wear makeup, she says. i wear makeup but i hate shopping for it. it's the intricacy that appeals to me. the thousands of tiny things, row upon row. 12:30 am - 06.20.02 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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