Unencumbered numbered words.
one.
I bought 10,000 Dreams Interpreted yesterday. I looked up your name... I just wanted to know who you are. What you mean. It wasn't there.
two.
I drove home late in my rusting Cutlass Cierra. Her name is Lucy. She purrs my hands into pleasant numbness on the steering wheel-- especially on the freeway. She is nearing the point of no return, though. Her inside light is broken; her radio doesn't work all that well anymore. Her doors just don't open like people expect them to.
three.
I carried a baby on my hip yesterday. We looked at books together. He seemed pretty partial to Terry Pratchett and Kitchen Witchery. He tried to eat the carpet at Border's and keeled over in my lap trying to reach a brightly-colored book on palmistry (too advanced for both of us). I wanted to gather him up in my arms and cry for a while, right there on the floor.
four.
If only you knew the truth... I know how brutally merciless you would be.
five.
I couldn't sleep. At three in the morning, so tightly wound I thought I might snap like an old crumbly rubber band, Jason Mraz's new video came on MTV. I immediately relaxed... becoming fascinated by the dance routine, my exhausted mind trying to figure out just how, exactly, the choreographer found a dancing police squad. It doesn't cross one's mind at a time like that... they could have just been regular ol' dancers in costume.
six.
I wanted to cry. I tried. I couldn't.
seven.
Last night was the first time I have ever been jealous of her. It frightened me.
I bought 10,000 Dreams Interpreted yesterday. I looked up your name... I just wanted to know who you are. What you mean. It wasn't there.
two.
I drove home late in my rusting Cutlass Cierra. Her name is Lucy. She purrs my hands into pleasant numbness on the steering wheel-- especially on the freeway. She is nearing the point of no return, though. Her inside light is broken; her radio doesn't work all that well anymore. Her doors just don't open like people expect them to.
three.
I carried a baby on my hip yesterday. We looked at books together. He seemed pretty partial to Terry Pratchett and Kitchen Witchery. He tried to eat the carpet at Border's and keeled over in my lap trying to reach a brightly-colored book on palmistry (too advanced for both of us). I wanted to gather him up in my arms and cry for a while, right there on the floor.
four.
If only you knew the truth... I know how brutally merciless you would be.
five.
I couldn't sleep. At three in the morning, so tightly wound I thought I might snap like an old crumbly rubber band, Jason Mraz's new video came on MTV. I immediately relaxed... becoming fascinated by the dance routine, my exhausted mind trying to figure out just how, exactly, the choreographer found a dancing police squad. It doesn't cross one's mind at a time like that... they could have just been regular ol' dancers in costume.
six.
I wanted to cry. I tried. I couldn't.
seven.
Last night was the first time I have ever been jealous of her. It frightened me.
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