novembre ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- little miss stubborn we were sitting on cold concrete benches hands in our laps fingers curled as their little joints bent. the sun was setting across our backs illuminating the hairs on our necks but cutting across the warmth and making our knees cold i told you a secret, i folded my legs in front of my body and leaned over the cross towards you and whispered how i've always wanted to decorate that house, i've always wanted to stop it from looking so blank. you ever experienced a feeling of affection (platonic or non, doesn't matter) so strong that you just wanted to reach over and glide your hand along a jawline? three beers. echoing art gallery. four engaged students with little bird hair. and he is moving in with her. he is moving in with her he used to think of me. i've kicked myself to the curb. out of traffic. what is this age that makes coupledom sedentary? will i understand it one day? love is like french, and i don't speak french. i know it exists and i think it sounds pretty, but i've never bothered to learn it. i've gotten along so far with a few choice interpretations, but i'm not fluent. and no frenchman has ever offered to teach me. here i am with my own crude language but it doesn't mean that i don't want it, that i don't need my own warm body sleeping next to me. you were surprised to see me in my carpetbag jacket and tired eyes. what, did you think i would go into hiding? i'm not hiding anymore. 10:41 am - 05.15.05 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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