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|postalservice (profile) wrote, |
on 6-28-2005 at 11:37am
|Current mood: blank
Music: mice parade - warm hand in farmland
Subject: the rushing sound of air
|could there ever be anyone to see? when it's only me?
it's strange how much has changed with the mother gone in california and the boyfriend adam gone to the college of the world and my father getting married and my sisters getting hostile and my best friend getting rehabilitated and my relatives becoming distant and me well me becoming putty to close in on every detail of every persons' problem that i know. and frustration as to what i'm going to do with my life, only three years left to decide before i leave the nest and now i know how it feels with the guitars strumming and the hair blowing and the tennis ball in the throat and the palms sweaty and feelings swept away and the boys' stares and the french dialogue and the speed of things that increase with age. and as you know, you could've mixed up lots of things, it would've worked out fine.
and all the lyrics to relate to it's beautiful the rememberance of everything and the words and glances and caresses and how i love him and want him near me again hands holding faces touching legs spread. oh my.
sorry for the run on sentences it's become a ritual for blogging.