Saturday, June 6, 2009

Goodbye Ink and Paper Vingt Huit


Thinking of how it could go...

Looking into my rearview mirror. I can see her disappear. She won't fade very softly into the backround scenery. She is a stark contrast to the waving greenery. The grass and the plants shift with the wind. She holds her ground. She defiantly stays there not knowing the rhythms in the breeze. She pretends that she stays sedentary because that is where she belongs. This isn't right. She stays still because the natural motions scare her.

None of this matters anymore. I have a deer halfway through my windshield.


Rearranged.

Sometimes you have an uncontrollable wave of emotion. It might cause you to do something drastic. Do it if you must, but just please don't let anyone see you, especially me. It's really distasteful. I'll even go so far as to have my back turned while you clean up your little mess, the byproduct of a temper tantrum.


Open and Closed.

Leave it open. Close it when prompted. I don't want to have to probe him with questions the whole while. Open. I berate the one I shouldn't. I toss things around the yard. Closed. I am dancing, and singing, and laughing, and carrying on, and now I am almost out of breath. What a lovely time to have. Opened, but only slightly ajar. I don't know the correct way to think. Clues pour into my head like little shocks. It's okay though, I know who to blame, afterall I tied down the straps, but then again you turned on the switch...
I slam it closed, I lock it with a deadbolt. Timing is everything. Happily, I am locked in.

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