Talk To Me?

So I’m sitting here thinking about the voice mail I got this afternoon, and the impending war. The possible differences that are about to take place in my life. Once again, one voice mail, a million changes. I knew, when I wrote the letter, perhaps this would be huge. I hear the voice on the other end of the phone, and it’s bigger, again, than I thought it would ever be.

I have a whole BRAND NEW Logitec headset in a box in my kitchen, and I know that Skype is still very real. I don’t need the headset, you could have it. I could, WE could, be sitting on it talking, chatting about all kinds of crazy shit to pass the time. To just not think.

I’m two books in now, oh trust me, the other Journal (the art history one) has about four to six weeks. The two are succinct (and this has MLA citation.)

ALWAYS clap for the faeries.

She still dances like a whore inside my head, and will NEVER be me.
She wishes she understood art the way she understands words,
and I’m the one who creates the words she wishes in her sleep.

Whores.

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