I LOVE IT. So Much.

Really, amazing. I can’t wait. :)

As soon as this person opened his mouth to sing I immediately broke into tears. Don’t really watch this show, but he better win. Mmm, would listen for long times.

Well.

My brother and sister just left. All that remains is a lot of make up residue in my bathroom, no clean towels and an inflatable air mattress that I may or may not have just sat on and pretended was a raft. It was good to see them, how we’ve all grown and all that.

Fam.

Yikes.

I feel very quite self-conscious standing outside this big electronic store guarding bikes from thieves! Feel likea panhandler that didn’t get the message that you have to ask for money.

Salon.

It’s funny (to me) how hair salons have always made me hold my breath when walking in, nervously adjusting something or another, avoiding everyone’s eyes as much as possible. A cold shake starts to crawl up my legs, resting in my knees then thighs, creating a kind of tremulous quiver before finally settling in the pit of my stomach. All these put together women, so obvious in their embracing of all things relating, not ever being intimidated, though really, always fearing the natural black duck in a white duck’s pond syndrome. When I was younger I was in awe of it all, feeling like I’d never be accepted into womanhood in this way. Even now sometimes when apologetically explaining that I have no idea how to do any of it. It always turns out the same, though, gleeful thanks for allowing them to do something new and exciting, something with curly hair then blowing it straight. I’ve always quietly considered myself a pioneer of lots of things, but it doesn’t stop the ice water on my lungs before getting in the flow of it all. And I’m quiet, so quiet, never knowing if it is appreciated or frowned upon, not really ever caring though, there are only so many times I can explain my life story, but it feels too conventional when sitting in the chair tuned confessional. Besides, I like to watch them work, the way their eyebrows stiffen and raise upwards, the way they hold the scissors or color brush, its fun, I make up their life stories at the same time too.

It’s True!

I wrote to you a novel last night, sort of starting out slowly, a great crescendoing applause somewhere near the end, but still drug out several pages after.  Something about melting wings and candle wax, He being invited in without question, whether provoked or not I can’t recall right now, though assuming not.  Something sad but stoic, a herione’s righteous indignation to surrender to the climbing and slightly buzzing feeling of tears mounting behind her eyeline.  So be it.  Not really a love story, though also to be said definitely a love story, free falling heart palpitations and all.  Because I loved you for a great many more years than maybe you realize. A special kind of love, coveted and secret, growing sporadically in short bursts like a plant only blooming in night by the moons watchful eye.  Silly at times.  But pure in the way that only a love from deep and devious caravans could inspire.