I have nothing to write. I haven’t felt possessed and overtaken by a need to write in a long while. The persons that used me before, the haunted lost girl, the old Irish woman, the libertine playwright, the fey changeling have forgotten my body. I fumble to string together words that might be a story, a history, an argument, a hope, a lie, a discovery, an epiphany, a forgotten minute, a beloved secret or a note to Paris of half felt ideas that might seem whole to her.
The moon is nothing but a string of stars closely packed together like a ball of wool. They’re strung on platinum wire and hence the shine.
My fingers bloat and then stretch and stretch till they’re thin and cackly like a witch’s laugh.
Every surface is a dance floor.
If you don’t believe in love at first sight… you’ve just forgotten the first time you met. I want to travel back lifetimes and meet again for the first time.
Gold is our color. Rich, pagan, a houri on a block, painted queen and lion eyes.
I’m a word. So are you. The word is the biggest secret of our lives. Most often it is hidden even from ourselves.
If the world was simple a kiss would just be a kiss.
I’m waiting to slip sideways into another world. Imagine how exciting it will be. Poof. Sometimes I think I have. Women in saris fly on bears for their honeymoon. Once I was hurt, I lay down and became an icicle. I’d love to mix up the worlds so that everyone was traveling to and fro and then one day you’d all visit and I’d show you around.
I promise to do better tomorrow are the only words I always mean.
The moon is nothing but a string of stars closely packed together like a ball of wool. They’re strung on platinum wire and hence the shine.
My fingers bloat and then stretch and stretch till they’re thin and cackly like a witch’s laugh.
Every surface is a dance floor.
If you don’t believe in love at first sight… you’ve just forgotten the first time you met. I want to travel back lifetimes and meet again for the first time.
Gold is our color. Rich, pagan, a houri on a block, painted queen and lion eyes.
I’m a word. So are you. The word is the biggest secret of our lives. Most often it is hidden even from ourselves.
If the world was simple a kiss would just be a kiss.
I’m waiting to slip sideways into another world. Imagine how exciting it will be. Poof. Sometimes I think I have. Women in saris fly on bears for their honeymoon. Once I was hurt, I lay down and became an icicle. I’d love to mix up the worlds so that everyone was traveling to and fro and then one day you’d all visit and I’d show you around.
I promise to do better tomorrow are the only words I always mean.
1 comment:
I absolutely love your words sometimes. This is one of those. They are fresh and beautiful and remind me of springtime.
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