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|rina (profile) wrote, |
on 7-14-2007 at 11:55pm
|Music: rosie's lullaby - norah jones
|she doesn't get what it all means, and sometimes it will slip through the gaps in her fingers, but then she will shake her head, and sigh, and her hands will tug at her jumper.
she's growing up in this place all over again, and suddenly little miss rosie has to worry about things like mortgages and carpets and doors, but any misplaced feeling that will bubble up inside will just get pushed down and down and down until she can almost not feel it anymore.
the thing is, she has words stuck in the back of her throat, waiting and waiting for the chance to be free from her mouth, but the silence will filter in and then it will melt into nothing.
sometimes late at night the phone will sing, and when she picks up the dial tone will hum loudly in her ear. she will wonder if it's some sort of mixed-up message, and then she will forget it by the next day. her life continues.
she travels, because it's better than the alternative, and that has to be enough. her hair is darker, and she is older, less angry. airports get to be routine and the pressure in her lungs when they lift off doesn't fade away until she will remember that this is her life, now, and she doesn't really need a home.
it's hard, but she moves on.
somewhere far away a voice crackles, disconnects, and the only sound left is a dead signal, speeding away into the night.
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