some children are so strange

7th November 2009

Text reblogged from a debt of thanks with 1 note

grow up

silverbuttons:

i said it a while ago. i don’t know if i meant it. i don’t know if it came out too fast. i don’t remember. it was a while ago. where the clarity of the memory was, a blinding rush of frustrated disapproval moved in. i doubt i meant it. i bet it came out too fast. i sort of remember. sarah, she was being taken advantage of, again. sarah. the one who sits at our lunch table and would let everyone smoke pot in her basement. sarah. i went to maine with her. we visited boston. she lost her boarding pass. i wonder if i said it in passing, if it sort of stumbled out into my lecture. i wonder if it was my only response to a pepper in the neighbor’s lawn. i wish i could remember. sort of. if i didn’t mean it then, then i don’t mean it even more now. it wasn’t a command or instruction that should be followed. it should be another disregarded request of mine, like to cut your hair or to change the lighting or to stop listening to mr. richard smoker (you’re a poopie poker). i wish you had forgotten it like i had. of all the things i babble that embarrass me, all the statements i shouldn’t have stated, it is the two word demand that got in the way of living in an utopian fort with fakest of candles and the realest of young emotion.

char, your writing is amazing and inspires me so much jfjsjhfjhfhaf.

you must send me your nanowrimo novel when you’re done!