you're like fall in my hair.
when the air smells of cinnamon
and the leaves crackle like dry skin.
i love the way your season's change is so slight.
i want your fourth of july in my mouth,
and christmas placed protectively on my back.
you're like the summer mist in the morning.
drifting off the waves
and slowly rolling over me.
i love the way you drift out with the horizon.
i want your spring in my step.
and your new years kiss every day.

this is my winter song to you.

I have yet to figure out how to get my heart to stop beating so loud.
I am afraid every one around will turn to look at me, and know. they'll know.
I've seen you from the corner of my eye. standing half in the dusk.
shoulders sulking. chin down. hands stuffed into too tight already pockets.
then i hear it.
clunk. clunkclunkclunk. clunk.
the beat so loud that i feel it over the reverb of guitars and the vibrations of drums.
I feel the eyes burning a hole into the back of my head.
I know they know. they know that I know that they know. and we all know.
but my heart keeps beating. and you keep sulking and we keep pretending we're ok.
but my wintered love is still alive. my beat gives it away with every step.
and i know that you know.

love has been waiting, patient and kind.

I do not have a crush. I do not have a crush. I do not have a crush. I do not have a crush.

a crush is the curse of a silly girl. ever longing. ever hoping. ever crying.

I do not. have a crush.

i am not weighed down by the mediocre thoughts and maladies of infatuation.

a crush is a curse to a silly girl.

i do not have a crush.

i remember every word, i cling to every thought given. i do not giggle and bat my eyes.

i stand confident in all my womanlike ways.

i. do. not. have. a. crush.

i have a hope. a glimmer. a light in the distance, like a house calling you home.

a love is like medicine to a wounded soul.

i do not have a crush. i do not have a crush. i do not have a crush.

starlight, starbright.

when the tears you cry, are all you can believe.

i find when we should have the most faith in the greater good, when we have hope, when things just NEED to go right. thats when everything starts to crumble around your ankles.

my chin quivers and my hands shake. i can’t concentrate on the task before me because my mind is filled with worry and want.

i’ve shirked responsibility in my adult age. run from anything that would tie me down. just so i wouldn’t end up like her. anyone but her.

just have a little faith in me.

i keep waiting to find out why this hand was dealt to me. i’ve been good and i’ve been right. but it all feels so wrong.

i want to run. as fast as my broken legs will carry me. but i am stuck in the mud and muck of life. floundering here. waiting, just waiting.

The Plan:

well, we can either break up or fall in love, she said.

after all, it is spring.

when these things happen.

let’s fall in love, again. he said.

again means it happened once already.

of course it did.

everyone falls in love in the spring.

love in the winter, fall in love in the summer.

that’s the plan, she said.

it’s a great plan. he said.

you touch me. i hear the sound of mandolins.

wild as the air.
whipping through the moonlight and the tiny hairs on the back of your neck.
caressing knuckles. kissing bumpers.
wild as a whip on a sunny day.
slashing tires and touching backs.
breathing wet lips and squelching mad hatters.
gold lamee ribbons tickle the trees
till they giggle into a gaggle of geese.
cling to me.

morning coffees.
beast of burden.
getting motivated.
loving something too much.
hide and go seek with your past.
dreams about your favorite literary characters.
watering eyes.
the sounds of settling.
a dinner and wine with old friends.
finding the most comfortable spot on your bed.
eating Peanut Butter straight from the jar.
red and white. red and white.
leaves of grass swaying under your feet.
the perfect summer breeze.
harry potter and how it makes me feel.
planning road trips with best friends.
sleeping in.
fever.

we're meant to lose the people we love. How else would we know how important they are to us?

breathe. just breathe.

i've been a slight insomniac lately. every time i close my eyes, the blackness is bombarded with images that i'd rather forget and memories that i'd like to throw into a pensieve. sometimes your head becomes so jumbled. so full. that you feel like you have room for nothing else. your breath comes in such short close rasps that you start to feel nauseous. and you start to wish, all over again. that this life could start over. that you could go back, fix all those mistakes. write a letter to your future self, give them warnings.
dear me (age 27):
cling tight to what you love, for one day it will be lost and gone forever. much like alice, going through the looking glass.
remember to be like that soaring eagle. eager for that open sky.
never let anyone make you feel like you're not worth it.
and hug the ones you love everyday. for soon. you'll no longer get the chance.
remember that sometimes, its ok to be vulnerable.
that you don't always have to feel like the one who has to be tough and strong. but that its ok to feel like running and hiding.

i wrote this last year, almost to the day, right after i learned my dad had lost his fight, i think it still pertains:

trying to talk about my dad and all the love he left here for me is kind of like trying to dance about architecture.
i could tell you that he was the love of my life.
i could tell you he literally saved my life.
i could tell you that even though i was only two, i remember the first time i met him.
i could tell you how on that first time, i fell asleep in his lap on the car ride home and felt safe, and whenever i was around him from that point on. i felt safe.
i could tell you he was one of my soul mates.
i could tell you these things, but would it be possible for you being on the outside to understand me on the inside?
i could tell you that my "real" dad never really wanted anything to do with me.
i could tell you he always made me feel like i was less than wanted.
i could tell you that when Don appeared, i knew i would always be loved.
i could tell you about the countless times he would get on the floor with me and play barbies or my little pony.
i could tell you how to this day he's the only one i ever felt like i could say absolutely anything to.
i could tell you that he loved my friends as much as he loved me.
i could tell you about when my best friends dad passed he bought the ticket so i could be with her.
i could tell you about the fights we got in. about how we wouldn't speak for days. only to be fine without having to say a word.
i could tell you about the bond we had.
i could tell you how my mom always says he fell in love with me first.
i could tell you how i feel empty.
i could tell you how im not prepared.
i could tell you that i feel like throwing up everywhere.
i could tell you about how the very last time i saw him i leaned over to say goodbye and his sad bony hand reached up to my face and held me and told me he loved me so much and he was so proud of me.
i could tell you that his two favorite movies were titanic and west side story. and i love him for that.
i could tell you that the only time i saw him cry was the day he dropped me off at college.
i could tell you that i was lucky to have had him.
i could tell you these things, but it wouldn't give you any insight into the man he was.
but i could tell you that it helps me to say it, to think it. to remember it.
i could tell you that he left all of us a legacy. a legacy of love. of who we should aspire to be as people. of how a man should treat those around him.
i could tell you all these things. and i can only hope that you were or are as lucky as i have been.

i am, i said.

this is a week of anniversaries.

yes sir.

things to be thankful for:

bottomless mimosa's on a sunday afternoon.
cowboy boots.
friends who sing with you.
new gay boyfriends.
pushups.
"there is a picture of a butt in a thong in my email"
going organic.
wishing i wore glasses.
slipping at work in front of your boss. and still retaining your job.
puppy cuddles.
lots of coffee.
favorite people.
polaroids of peach blossoms.

14th day. 11th month.

currently listening to: green and gray - nickel creek.
currently thinking of: more coffee.
currently laughing about: the moon being so bright last night that it woke me up and kept me awake till i turned away from my window. after staring at it for a bit.

when i dream of my father, the dreams are always extremely vivid. i remember smells and feels and tastes. normal everyday things, but not something i normally wake up and still feel from a dream.
i have never had a good dream about my dad. not since he passed. its always been these strange dreams where he is just out of reach. or i have this gut feeling that its not actually him. in my dreams he's always two steps ahead and a little to the right, and i feel like i am always trying to catch up.
but last night was different. last night he was hugging me so tight. like he knew he would be gone for a long time and he pulled me close to him so i could smell his old spice mixed with instant coffee scent. and held me. he let me cry and cry and cry. and beg him not to go. all the while patting my back. telling me it was going to be ok.
we were in the house i grew up in. in that house, the front door was right next to my room. when anyone would leave i could hear them. in this dream. after i'd already said my goodbyes to him and gone into my bedroom. i smelled his coffee and heard him shut the door. i rushed outside. and he was walking down the street. i shouted out that i loved him and not to forget me. he looked at me for a long time. reached up his hand, in goodbye and told me "its going to be alright. its time to stop being sad now. and remember i'll always love you"

as for not being sad, i am a long way from that. as for feeling comforted. i finally do. because i can still remember his smell. i can still see his face and i can still feel his arms.

saturday mornings are meant for coffee. re-reading harry potter and listening to les miserables. as loud as possible.

in the sun, sun having fun.

a day at the atlantic.
a basket full of scones and lemon curd.
sunshine and sand.
homemade dinners.
cups of coffee.
biggie snuggles.
platonic soul mates.

these are the some of the ingredients to make up a good day.

boys are cruel but girls are meaner.

i am a dance. trapped in a mason jar.
shake me like a firefly and see me alight.
i am a song. trapped in a bullhorn.
shout into me and hear me cry.
i am a love. trapped in a doll.
pull my string and listen to the screams.

i drank my bottle of sorrow till it became joy.

she rolled over to face him and curled into the nook of his arm.
it was like she was born to be in that place. in his warmth.
he pressed his mouth to the top of her head, drinking in her smell.
she felt safe. she felt right. she smelled like ripe mangos.
he shut his eyes tight. hoping the noise of his heart fluttering would wake her up.
he had never felt a stronger urge to be near someone.
it was more like a craving.

with a love like that, you know you should be glad.

If she loves you, if she really loves you, you’ll know it. If you can wake up to her staring at you and it’s not even mildly creepy, if you catch her smelling the shoulder of the hooded sweatshirt you lent her for an autumn walk at the beach, and not for B.O., if she makes you a pancake in the shape of a shark, if she calls you drunkenly at four in the morning “to talk,” if she laughs at your jokes when they’re funny and makes fun of you when they’re not, if she keeps her fridge stocked with Guinness tallboys for when you come over, if she tells you how she wishes she were closer to her sister and that her dad makes her sad: She loves you, of course she loves you.

-PASHA MALLA

first corinthians eight eleven.

he was a cool moving piece of blue mountain song.
his trees would sway in the wind of my breathe.
the mountain goats collected in his throat.
and when he spoke, he spoke of mist and dew.

he was a tall glass of whiskey, shot down into your veins.
smoothing through my body, silky and sensual.
his ice tinkled onto my tongue and melted my senses.
and when i drank of him, i drank deeply.

he was a peacock strut, a feather fanfare, a broken victrola crackling my skin.

he was a cool moving broken piece of song in my head.
his notes would flatten up to my breast. over my heart.
the tunes would fade in and out and in and out and in and out
and when he sang, he sang of past indiscretions and future heartbreak.

he was a warm mug of seduction milk
made by your mother after an evening of sweaty dreams and fear.
he tingled into my fingertips soothing me down.
and when i drank of him, he burned through me.

he was a peacock strut, a feather fanfare, a broken victrola crackling my skin.

he was comparable to a Joni Mitchell song, calling you home.
his voice a shaky one swirling inside my head.
the curtains giggled in the movement of his notes.
and when he called to you, he made you feel lost and alone.

he was like a bottleneck coke on a summers day
crisp and clean, sweating down his glass body as i inch closer
he was meant to be swallowed down in large gulps.
and when i drank of him, i drank deeply.

he was a peacock strut, a feather fanfare, a broken victrola crackling my skin.

with a peacock strut, he entered.
stage right.
two steps.
pause.
slight of hand, trick up my sleeve.
wind whips, feathers fluff.
exit stage left.

skip kiss.

i move, the minutes fall out of my pocket.
one, four, seven, eleven.
ticking away from my grasp.
falling away from an open space.
I'd like to write a letter to time.
asking it politely to stop.
slow down.
wait.

go back.

go back.

go back.

I'd like to petition time to go back.
to start over.
I have given time alot.
its time for time to give me something back.

i want to dance. i want to drive with the top down with both hands flying free. i want to have a world free of drama, instead of having a state ID. i want the true meaning of heartbreak to punch me right in the face and leave me wanting more. i want to light candles and listen to tommy. i want you to change my life. i want i love you's in the morning and i can't live without you's at night. i want to go to the bathroom with the door open, always. i want to be on stage with the burning lights guiding my way. i want to fly. i want to know everything about someone. i want comfort. i want to eat anything i want and not feel (or see) the effects. i want to be on time. i want to shake hands with johnny cash. i want to catch the disease of time. i want to be in 5 places at once. i want to be forgiven. i want to break all my bad habits. i want to let go of anger. i want to sit in the sun and just laugh. i want to lay on a beach all day and not think. i want to give me away. i want to lose all i believe in, and find it again. i want to really get locked in. i want to go home. i want tight squeezes of the hand and heart. i want someone to realize who i really am and never want to let me go. i want someone to fill my sorrow. i want to steal all your catch phrases. i want to laugh. i want to dance. i want to ask for more. i want to be broken and put back together again and again and again. i want to stand on my own mountain top. i want to go to ireland. i want to be. i want to mean to you what you are to me. i want love, not like. i want more, always more. i want to laugh. i want to dance. i want to learn to drive a stick shift without stalling. i want to learn to let go of you. i want to taste you. i want to move. i want to shake. i want to dance.

i want to dance.

once bitten, always a heart surgeon.

im just missing this connection.


i crawl through the spaces in your lungs
and climb up the ladder of your ribs.
just to get a little bit closer to your heart...

my hands get sticky
i loose my grip and slip down your esaphagus.
i roll past your heart and reach out to grip it.
but my hands are slippery.


i just missed that connection.


i want to be your bob dylan
i want to be your magic trick.
i want to connect and conspire.
i want to squeeze your heart till it pops.

connect to me like a connect four game
black to red to black to black to redredredredblack...
red like your insides.
black like your lungs (you really should stop smoking now.)

i need your easy silence to drip into my overzealous eyeballs.
i need comcast to be cheaper
those bastards.

fix you.

as humans we are all prone to believe that the bad things in life will skip over us.
maybe because we are "good" people.
or because we believe in karma.
regardless of the underlying notions we have, bad things do happen.
cars get wrecked. people die. love is lost. tears are shed. you loose things you can't replace.
the worst part is trying to lead some sort of "life" for yourself.
a life thats not really your own because you left your own behind.
packed in boxes, and stuffed in bags.
hoping that no one would dig it up or dig it out.
but your new "life" is one you were enjoying.
until
your old life reared its ugly head and smaked you in the face.
reminding you that you left things behind.
i never thought of myself as selfish.
until recently.
i suppose in our own right, we are all selfish. to some extent.
we do things because they look or feel right.
we move away.
we smoke.
we drink.
we hurt people.
we put up walls.
we leave family.
we leave comfort.
to have adventures that don't really belong to us.
possibly to just have something to grasp. something to cling to.
some smidgen of something that seems real.
i long for something real.
its like im stuck under water, with one arm extended through the surface....
waiting....
waiting.....
waiting......
i've waited my whole life.
now i take shallow breaths.
im always near tears.
i give pretend smiles and fake laughs for the benefit of those around me.
but, the truth is,
i'll never be me again.
because the me in those boxes and bags has curled up deep inside me.
is laying in a hospital bed with needles and patches stuck to it.
is crying in an empty bed.
is a 14 year old girl who was forced to be an adult too soon.
is a brother who has to be a dad.
...is a girl who can't find a real home....

time, is on my side.

i wish i had a time machine
i want to go back to that time, even a year ago
when i was happy
when i smiled
when i didn't worry
when i still had my dad.
i want to go back to the time when boys were nice to me
when i didn't worry about money
when i didn't need a car
i want to go back to early morning "good morning" texts.
and late night phone calls.
if i had that time machine i'd go back to christmases not spent together.
and fights that were had
because i think there is truth in the pain
i'd see all the meaningful movies again
i'd laugh so hard i couldn't breath
if i had a time machine
i would date all the boys that wanted to date me
i'd hug my family more
i'd go home for that last thanksgiving
i'd tell my dad i loved him
i'd have asked him every day to quit smoking
just to know, that i did...
i would kiss all the boys, and dance with all the girls
i'd listen to my friends more
i'd trust more

if i had a time machine,
i'd go back to when it wasn't so hard.


but i don't have a time machine
and i can't go back
and im starting to wonder if going back would even make a difference.
and im starting to wonder if its worth every ounce of blood?
and im starting to wonder if the happiness im searching for is actually in the past.
or if i have to simply learn from all my mistakes.

but i still really wish i had that time machine...

the man was pure poetry in motion.
he waved his hand and stanza's fell from his sleeves.
when he opened his mouth, beauty tumbled down like a prisoner breaking free.
he spoke of nothing important and waved to nothing in particular.
but he moved me, like fresh blueberries on a summers day in the park.


the man made me want to reach into the heavens
grab God by the ears and kiss him on the mouth
(in a strictly platonic way, of course, it is the Almighty, after all)
he made me want to ride sharks bareback and tame the wildest of seahorses.

the man made me feel one with the universe.
made me hope for something more that my pint of golden beer.
made me long for the comfort of curling up on my fathers lap at the age of 2 and falling asleep in long car rides
the man made me want to rip myself limb from limb to start over.
to begin anew.

the man, the man, the man.

the man. the man across the bar.

and give me back my broken parts.

the first real memory i have, by normal standards, is not a "good" one. although, if asked honestly. i would have to say, i don't view it as being good or bad. being happy or sad. it is merely a memory.
Around the age of 2, I was living in Big Bear, Ca. with my Mom and my older brother who was about 4. We were living with a man named Bob. If I passed Bob on the street today, I wouldn't know it. I do not remember his face, I do not remember how tall he was, I do not remember if he cared about my well-being, or fed me my cereal in the morning. What i do remember is that every night we lived in that house, my brother would come and pull me out of the crib to come and sleep in bed with him. My first memory happens on a night like that, Scott had pulled me out of my crib and we, for some reason (probably scotts idea) crawled from his room and snuck into the living room and hid under the dining room table. The scene that lay before us, was my mother, quite possibly drunk or high, and Bob. They were fighting, pretty fiercely, and Scott and I remained under that table and watched this man hit our mother, over and over and over again. Looking back now, I do realize that this is not a merry, happy-go-lucky memory. Not one for the books. But to this day, I do not have a feeling of fear or sadness when I think of that night. I would have thought it all to be a dream, if Scott's first vivid memory was not the same one.

i want free shit to not cost anything.

i was told 3 to 4 times this weekend that not only did i look like zelda fitzgerald but that i was the epitome of a 1920's girl, and i was born in the wrong decade.

go figure?

The Great Sleep

he watched the sunset behind her face
wishing that just for one moment
that smile could be his to own
he watched the sunset on his life and wished.
wished that it wouldn't all end so soon

fill my glass barkeep.
i'll be here for eternity.
i'll need a little spirit to get me through
and i'll need a little girl for me to pursue.
so fill my glass barkeep
im not ready for that great sleep.

she sat at his bedside and wept most bitterly
holding his face in her hands
they said 'you're wasting your time.'
one kiss and then im gone
but i'll never leave.

fill my glass barkeep
i'll be here for eternity
i'll need a little spirit to get my through
and I'll need a little girl for me to pursue
so, fill my glass barkeep
im not ready for that great sleep.

one can't say what one will do
when our time here on earth is through
but i'd like to think that our one soul splits in two
to fly away. to stay here with you.

so fill my glass barkeep
i'll be here for eternity
i'll need a little spirit to get my through
and I'll need a little girl for me to pursue
so, fill my glass barkeep
cause im just not ready for that great sleep.

-love like joni-

-love like Joni-

listening to Joni Mitchell late at night
talkin' bout dreams and fast cars
your eyes meet my lips in the dusk
and we giddily giggle into the oblivion of lust
stuffed bears and polaroid pictures
timelines of who we are, what we'll be.
listening to Court and Spark in the twilight

i'll never be the same again
never know another like you
i'll never be normal again
not now that i've found someone
someone exactly like you

woman was Gods second mistake
but man was His first
let's fuse together baby, for one big catastrophe
my eyes meet your soul
as we giggle through this event called love
cause -

i'll never be the same again
never know another like you
i'll never be normal again
not now that i've found someone
someone exactly like you

you bring me back to who i was
back to what i thought i lost
you're the only case i could ever drink
the only song i'll ever sing

i'll never be the same again
never know another like you
i'll never be normal again
not now that i've found someone
someone exactly like you
i've found you.

though you're so far away.

a final look. a final gasp of air and then nothing.
the silence is deafening at 3 am when she is awoken to the phone call.
the muffled sound of crying from 3000 miles away.
the empty feeling in her stomach.
the dead tear sockets that wouldn't fill up.
she sits up. she stares in the darkness.
she thinks, this is all a dream. these months are a dream.
the closed door of the other room where her best friend softly slumbers looks inviting.
she lays back down. only now realizing that she's been gripping her phone so hard she will surely have a bruise.
she gasps for air that won't come.
closes her eyes. and sleeps.

been travelin' on this road too long.

alone in her little room. sitting and staring at the wall.
she can feel the tears warm on her cheek
but she can't feel the life in her heart.

alone in her little world. sitting still and waiting.
she can see out of her plastic shell
but she can't reach out to touch them.

there is a tornado waiting to push through.
watch out for the girl when she explodes.

she rips through everyone around her
tearing apart their mind and body
reaching for something that she can feel
even if it means killing the ones she tries to love.

she rips through the pavement under her
tossing aside ladylike tendencies and class
reaching out for the one she can't touch
not touching him will mean the death of all of her.

there is a tornado waiting to push through
watch out for your girl when she explodes.

she cries herself to sleep as she lays alone in a bed too big
whispering hugs and clinging to pictures of pasts forgotten
alone in the world she built.

she cries as she touches his face for one last time.
whispering goodbyes and clinging to weathered palms of something she once knew
alone in the world he left her in.

there is a tornado waiting to push through
watch out for the girl
she's gonna explode

so glide away on soapy heels.

i am in love with coffee.
and waking up earlier than i have to so i can sit down and enjoy my cup of coffee.
although, i am also a fan of sleeping as long as i can.

i had the most amazingly awkward massage last night.
when i say it was a full body one, i mean, the man started poking my butt and i jumped almost out of the chair, and his response was: ticklish?
luckily i knew that i wasn't getting taken advantage of since a) i was in a room full of reclining chairs and my roommate steph was laying right next to me getting her butt poked too.

this place was amazing and only costs $15!! its like, ugh. AMAZING.

morning coffee.

i haven't showered in two days.
i dont call that lazy. i call that going green.
i am drinking instant coffee from my favorite california mug.
listening to a new musician called 'jude'
very, jason mraz meets elvis.
i have realized that saturday night live is like, warm milk for me.
normally, i can stay up till 3 in the morning. no problem.
i've always been a night owl.
but if SNL comes on, forget it. im dead asleep. which always upsets me, cause sometimes i want to see it.
like last night, steve martin hosted.
and jason mraz performed.
and i slept. only waking up when charlotte the hyperactive lab decided that licking my face was necessary.

i woke up to a phone call from jane.
waking up to a friends voice is the best feeling in the world.
when she's laughing and ready to have a quick chat.
it causes me to open my eyes and greet the day.
i sat outside in the sun, watched the dogs roll in the dirt
and listened to jane talk to me.
thats what feels right.
morning coffee's with jane.
we used to have those, every morning. in new york. in philly. and in florida.
now we've gone our seperate ways. and while i feel, its good for us.
i miss her more than i could ever miss any man, any lover or any other friend.
we've had some really hard times, but when someone is your family.
you forgive them their flaws. and you move on.
just as she did for me. more than i care to admit.

im still trying to figure out next steps in life.
still waiting on the job.
i've managed to last almost 2 months on the money i got here with.
im down to my last $50.
its scary. but it does prove how little i need to really survive.
which makes me happy.
i love the idea of money.
but i hate the reality of it.
i hate that i have bills to pay, and i want this shirt or that plate.
because i want it. not because i need it.
but, i revert back to being my very minimalist personality.
i DONT need or want that shirt. i have plenty.
i don't need a plate. i live with someone who has a ton of them.
but i do have to pay those bills.
ugh.

im just a little bit caught in the middle.

i am currently sitting in a towel wrap.
hair twisted up in a hair clip
drinking a glass of shiraz and enjoying linda rondstat on vinyl.
my sweet pup is curled up on a pillow next to me (even though its COMPLETELY against the rules, she's too cute to say no to)
my new dog friend, charlotte the black hyperactive lab, is sitting by the door. panting.
she likes to hold everything in her mouth.
plastic. cork. sock. underwear. my shoe. record covers. dvd. sunglasses. everything.
she doesn't chew. she just holds and slobbers.


the other night, i was asked to join a band on stage.
while that might sound trivial to some, to me....it was, breathtaking.
not my singing. not my performance. but being on stage.
its something unexplainable that happens down in the pit of your soul.
of feeling of complete, joy. unknown to anyone else but you.
you smile inside. you laugh in your gut so hard you feel like its going to implode.
you wish people could feel what you felt.
even if it seems so miniscule on the outside.

i am slowly, but surely, finding myself again.
somehow, over the past couple years. i lost her.
that girl i used to love so much.
the one who had a lust and vivor for life.
who didn't sweat the small stuff.
who dusted the dirt off her shoulder and moved on.
the one who would forgive and forgot.
the one everyone wanted to know. everyone needed to be around. and everyone lived through.
she's coming back. she's morphed and become someone a little different.
but she's almost here. i can feel her. in my toes.

oh. and today i ate a bug while riding a bike.