Sunday, April 12, 2009

paper girls//she fell out of a cherry tree record

"i've bought silk stockings with a suspender belt" i whispered into your ear at the bus stop. "want to see?"

this is close to my favourite time of year, when waking up cool in the morning turns to bare arms by two pm, soup for dinner and cardigans in bed. we've been peeling easter eggs, making tiny pirate hats with the foil. my fountain pen stained the pillowcase when you finally sent me to bed on thursday, and i'm sure i felt you kiss my forehead as you pried john donne from my tired fingers. it will only get worse, i told you over breakfast. we leave the lights on but talk about switching to candlelight, reading dickens and learning to play guitar so we can sing bob dylan songs because our voices are less grainy than his. my hair's getting so long, so's yours, and we claim poverty, we claim recession, we claim thriftiness, but really, it's just nice having someone run their fingers through your hair, even if those fingers are ghostly.

"i've bought silk stockings with a suspender belt" i whispered into your ear at the bus stop. "want to see?"

they go hunting for witches, but the specifications aren't exact. it's the girls with the short skirts, the bright red lipstick. they pay attention to them.
paying attention to them, they miss the witches.

a spider is dead behind my desk. i know this because i killed it. and now i'm feared that it's going to come back, crawl over my desk and demand an apology. what will be scarier, a talking spider or a spider risen from the dead?

sometimes it doesn't seem like the distance matters, and i tell people about things we've said, conversations, arguments. when i've drunk too much i'll even tell people about the fridge incident. then the couples put their arms around one another and the distance comes crashing back, the space between all things widens and i. well. i have another drink, usually. it's all about balance.

he's still completely lacking in grace as he throws himself down - half on top of me, half next to me. "Damien Rice? It's far too nice a day to be listening to that sort of music" snatching my ipod from my hands, he changes it to Bright Eyes and sings along obnoxiously loudly. people turn to look at us curiously, because they can't hear the glittering music, just this stupid boy (who pops in and out of my life) singing, tripping over the words "oh my patient prisoner you've waited for this day and finally you are free you are free you are freeeeeezing!" he bellows. i don't want to, but i smile. he grins, twice as obnoxious, endearing. "that's it, girlie." the arm across my shoulders is warm and his eyes are so very interested in the patterns of my skirt. i mutter something about how tactile and clingy he is, finish up with a "and you don't even know my name" which earns a widening of his smirk "i'm the first to want to." we sit there, the hot dry wind on our skin, saying nothing for ages. "where've you been?" triggers a flash flood of excuses, but the truth wins out ""stuck in my head"

it doesn't mean anything.

we don't know each other. we curl up together, but all we couldn't tell you anything about each other. there's probably not that much to tell. sometimes he brings chocolate, sometimes i bring the newspaper. it's the quiet that we're here for, not the company. the occasional brush of hand over shoulder, the slouch of tired limbs across tired bodies, means nothing.
"i don't believe in plain talking. it hurts too much."
there's a long thread of desperation in him, from his head to muddy foot prints. in the wreckage of what has been done to him, he's awfully small. "awfully small with big eyes like some sort of drowned dog." he sniffs and whines and works his way around me till we're wrapped up tight.
and i wonder, if this is what we were supposed to be


my notebook got wet, so i thought i should type up the somewhat pathetic attempts at writing. i don't know, i used to have the words flow like wine. wicked step aunt made me a dress today - i mostly supervised and ironed things. she's fairly wonderful, and i'll put up a photolog about it tomorrow. i've christened the dress The Nouveau Rachelle, in honor of the wicked step aunt, and the newness, and the fact that the friday before last, i was drunk and told lizzle that i was "bringing the rachel" to the shakespeare.

no one is asking, so leave it alone
can we?

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