| better words . . . . here there and everywhere |
It seems like too many things change when you leave. The color of the walls, the weather, people. Nothing's familiar anymore. I spend a second longer staring, making sure I'm in the right apartment, the right city. Did I ever really live here? An urge to buy boxes. Wooden, secret, crafted boxes, with locks and keys...but nothing to put in them. * * Tassle to the left. The one thing I have to remember. Then... telephone calls and photocopying. And new, sensible shoes. Maybe even a purse-- my first real purse since I was four. But June's still a long way off. |
better places . . . . over under and through |