How does it feel to be made so transparent? The text message delays and cadences give him away. I wonder if I will see him in the flesh and see right through to the beating heart and want to pierce it. Feeling contrary.
Rendered transparent - right down to the 'true' 'authentic' 'self'. All these words have turned into poison words. You hear anyone using them and immediately they are suspect. As they should be, no doubt, but there aren't any concessions in the game for those who are in the know and use these words for their poisonous power. You can't get away with saying them.
*insert GIF of Max from Happy Endings saying 'mah niiiig-' while Brad nearly kills him dead with a look*
There's a book inside my head that's taking shape in bits and pieces. I don't want to force myself into writing it, because there's just so little time for anything anyway. I keep imagining that going away will solve all my problems, from the lack of time-to-myself to dandruff. Only actual going away will cure me of that.
But scenes come and go, and most of them will be forgotten when the final thing - if the final thing - comes to life. I am not worried.
No. There will be time, and there will be time.
Like there is time now, in the midst of goodbyes and frantic packing, to gaze at pictures, to Facebook stalk, to feel that strange unpleasant churning in your middle that heralds a crush. To think of witty things to say, to imagine meeting again, to dread the actual meeting-again, to look forward to the moment where it all breaks, or the much-farther moment where you think, him, really? He really had to grow into his looks. What a cartoon.
[the still farther moment where I read this and wonder who I was talking about. Perhaps J will remind me.]
Rendered transparent - right down to the 'true' 'authentic' 'self'. All these words have turned into poison words. You hear anyone using them and immediately they are suspect. As they should be, no doubt, but there aren't any concessions in the game for those who are in the know and use these words for their poisonous power. You can't get away with saying them.
*insert GIF of Max from Happy Endings saying 'mah niiiig-' while Brad nearly kills him dead with a look*
There's a book inside my head that's taking shape in bits and pieces. I don't want to force myself into writing it, because there's just so little time for anything anyway. I keep imagining that going away will solve all my problems, from the lack of time-to-myself to dandruff. Only actual going away will cure me of that.
But scenes come and go, and most of them will be forgotten when the final thing - if the final thing - comes to life. I am not worried.
No. There will be time, and there will be time.
Like there is time now, in the midst of goodbyes and frantic packing, to gaze at pictures, to Facebook stalk, to feel that strange unpleasant churning in your middle that heralds a crush. To think of witty things to say, to imagine meeting again, to dread the actual meeting-again, to look forward to the moment where it all breaks, or the much-farther moment where you think, him, really? He really had to grow into his looks. What a cartoon.
[the still farther moment where I read this and wonder who I was talking about. Perhaps J will remind me.]
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