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v u l v a l i c i o u s The things that we want, but cannot have, or cannot want but have in abundance Cities and love, both relentless and gray. I bawled my eyes out three times yesterday for European strangers and their lunchtime trade. I'm a mess for love, I'm dirty from the city. I've been looking around to find warmth in the shitty glares that they give you when they're so busy living. I've made up my mind, my mind's always changing. I've been spending my time just rearranging for all the changes i go through, all the miles to drive, all the waves that i float through, all the watchful eyes, all the tunes to pull notes through, all the names to file; well i would go hungry and meek if love were left to the weak. I've got socks stuffed with numbers, my head stuffed with you, the bite on your neck was the least i could do. My eyes are like water, my ears are like tires, my legs are like books, they spread like fire. If there's one thing for sure, you are who you know. So let's check in our passports and see where there's left to go. Thanks, Bitch and Animal. That about sums things up today. I feel unleashed and chained, unruly and meek, a walking contradiction so much that it hurts. I think not speaking to people will do that to me--make me feel strange and disconnected in ways that I forget are possible. I expect my blood in two weeks, give or take, and wish that it would come and ground me. She said she hates to bleed, called it a curse the way old women do when they tell half-truths to little girls with watch-guard ears listening for the first signs of freedom fighters. It's a fear word, curse, and I looked at her funny, as though she had knocked me down. I recovered quickly and continued the conversation. I want so badly to do something tonight. I want to walk away from my evening with feelings of productivity coursing through my veins and pounding in my face. And then I want her, too, and I realize we can't always have what we want. But I just want to be grounded again, tethered to my Self (sturdy) even while I float through the stars like the misty traveler I sometimes think I've become. Grounded. Sturdy. Free-floating. |