after, and a amid hundreds of papers of critics studies about spanish medieval literature and a bottle of wine and the mohawk lodge singing sweet sad tunes, i am wearing cutoff shorts and my hair is soft and ugh why wont he kiss me.

i miss the rain most of all. i miss the rain and dc and i miss driveways and even fences, even white picket fences, i miss that. it is so very strange how things unravel, it is strange the things i miss like the fact that there were no sidewalks but front porches, i miss that and i miss all the cars parked outside the houses instead of underground ( Read more... )

i have the ending of my story, now i need to work on the middle. fuck the middle.

sigh a sigh of relieve, this is over

and you are finally okay.

i am in dc. it is summer but god how sad i feel.

this apartment is way too big and i am way too restless half of the time or most of the time and my hands never know what to do, if i should write or pass pages off the books i should read for the classes i should go to but some mornings i cant wake up because i remember photographs of you and i dont even know you now and we dont even awknowledge ( Read more... )

This is the story of the boys who loved you ( Read more... )

in between and amist fucking moments of paralyzing cyclones of depression (i think) i am slowly writing a short story slow slowly and i like the way things looks typed and the faint smell of ink and to imagine arms and legs and limbs i have control over. like cleaning the past like re writing history like erasing mistakes and all of the things& ( Read more... )

away from her left me feeling so broken.

my dad got me the most beautiful typewriter ever it is so soft and unforgiving and can write in red as well. it is the most precious gift and it sucks to be so drained out of everything that i cant bring myself to write anything relevant or even remotely beautiful. i have lost it, i think. i am tired and drained and angry and dont want to think or ( Read more... )