Sunday, March 28
step by step, heart to heart
I write to little, think to much. It's like the words are trapped inside of me, caged in the insecurities I posses, and they can't get out. They're starved and light sensitive after such a long time in the dark and their steps are careful and slow.
An airplane took my best friend away, sent her through the air and landed her far away from the sun. It's selfish of me to wish she lived here, it doesn't suit her (does it suit me?) but I want her close, at all times. On my nightstand lays two blue pills. When ever life gets to rough, she will save me from a distance. On the airport, when I grabbed her hands and stroke some hair from her face she gave me a book, Our Mutual Friend by Charles Dickens. I've spent the last days with it and bottles of plum wine on the attic, smoking camel blues and feeling sorry for myself. But I'm done now, I feel like taking a walk. Tears always seem to dry on their own don't they. And Sara did make me laugh a little last friday when she hit the ceiling with her head trying to dance on a table. She's fantastic. And wild.