three (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
threeplusfire) wrote2001-02-16 09:37 pm
threeplusfire) wrote2001-02-16 09:37 pm
notebook opened
One day I will learn to write. Yes. Real things, instead of notebook paper fragments.
Since I'm balanced on the edge of it anyway, I'm going to turn the stereo up loud and sing until I lose my voice. There is something about these songs of obsession. Something obsessive in me. Something that is definitely not quite put together right. Which would explain so many things and so little, and I have done everything already... but he smiles when he looks at me. Takes me a moment to remember where I am when I look at you like that.
*****
What I've been, I've been everyone else, at this point another change can be so easy. It does matter. I have a stack of books I've never opened but knowledge is so easy in this game. We play in the spaces in between, a thousand words to complete the sentence and when we speak we have the same eyes.
*****
"You told them everything?" he asked, his face expressionless.
"Of course," I nearly shouted before I caught myself. I put my hands up to the top of the shelf and pulled another library book down, deliberately ignoring his cold voice. The open pages crackled, old and faded. Soviet Literature 1929.
*****
He smiles at me and I feel so light. We listen to sirens annihilate the music, and I remember that novel, wondering if it felt this way when he was writing it. This utterly intangible sensation, this unbearable lightness of being.
Since I'm balanced on the edge of it anyway, I'm going to turn the stereo up loud and sing until I lose my voice. There is something about these songs of obsession. Something obsessive in me. Something that is definitely not quite put together right. Which would explain so many things and so little, and I have done everything already... but he smiles when he looks at me. Takes me a moment to remember where I am when I look at you like that.
*****
What I've been, I've been everyone else, at this point another change can be so easy. It does matter. I have a stack of books I've never opened but knowledge is so easy in this game. We play in the spaces in between, a thousand words to complete the sentence and when we speak we have the same eyes.
*****
"You told them everything?" he asked, his face expressionless.
"Of course," I nearly shouted before I caught myself. I put my hands up to the top of the shelf and pulled another library book down, deliberately ignoring his cold voice. The open pages crackled, old and faded. Soviet Literature 1929.
*****
He smiles at me and I feel so light. We listen to sirens annihilate the music, and I remember that novel, wondering if it felt this way when he was writing it. This utterly intangible sensation, this unbearable lightness of being.