I don't know why we have deathly yellow sticky sticks on our lemon tree, why is the death of poor little lemon-hungry bugs less important than the health of our lemons?
I told my friend we would be pen pals and that I would be the first to write as I have her address. I hope she isn't waiting for the letter I haven't written.
The Beatles albums are all piled up on my desk. And yet I sit in silence. Rain is more than silence.
Yesterday I felt at home at a train station which wasn't mine. I was thirsty but the vending machine didn't work, so the garbage man got me a lemonade from out the back.
My sister got a phone. It angered me.
The sound of a clock ticking is the loudest sound of all.
When my parents leave the house I begin my rebellious mission of turning off their four conflicting radios. Then I am free.
David stares at me as I type. I have rotated the statue several times, but the naked figure always returns its gaze to my window. I think he's haunted.
I didn't have an idea for a post but felt like writing one, the result of such a feeling can be observed above.
1 comment:
Yep. I know that feeling.
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