Tuesday, March 02, 2010
We will soon sleep like that, two peas in a pod, surrounded by a never-ending sea of books (considering how the books on your shelves are growing and spilling out all over the floor).
Pictures I already envision my future life to fulfill:
Little kid with tiny little hands pushing up over-sized glasses (my glasses) hiding under my skirt- bright pink with white polka dots- and the skirt billows and lips stretch and curve upwards and there is the sonorous sound of unison laughter. Poster child. Poster mother. Poster happy like what the advertisements promise on TV. Balloons would be nice. Fine delicate laces. Firm hands. Shoes with shoe laces. The occasional high heels. Cashmere. Silk. Satin. Black eyeliner. Smudged. Bubblegum lipstick. Ice cream. Red lollipop. Strawberry cheesecake. Raw salmon sashimi.
Writing and dying to write something better, something so much more, dying while writing, dying for writing, dying without writing.
Sunset in Paris. Two glasses of wine. One red, one white, for the heck of it. Enough alcohol to feel loose and comfortably melancholic but not enough to soothe the mind and keep the heart warm. The cold gust of wind causes the strands of hair on the back of our necks to stand and our bones to shiver and we run for the bus, run for the train, run for our lives knowing that if we run fast enough until we are almost out of breath we could pick up enough speed and hurl our bodies up into the air and take off and flyyyyy! And if we don't at least we'll be so cold we are no longer cold anymore. We'll sense the heat from our bodies rising into the night sky as if our souls were trying to escape from our shells to take at least a scrap of us where we can never dream of going.
Posted by Faith at 1:14 am