Last July, I couldn't bare my loneliness, the solitude. Today I feed of it. This peace ,the distant music. The wind turning the pin wheels. The tiny yellow bud which will bloom tomorrow is bobbing. Last July, I was trying to save my nest. This year I build a new one.
I'm not sure if I want someone to share these moments with me. I write them down and share them with all of you. I rarely put them down well. I feel I'm losing my powers lately.
Sometimes things harden inside you. You become brittle inside and your tears dry up to form a cyst around you. Only music penetrates me.
I dont read anymore. I cant . I don't look for him anymore.
I know the next song on the cd. I know the day, I know the night.
I know you don't like me.
I know they don't like me at class.
I know I want a cigarette sometimes.
I know I cant go away.
I want to go to a place which is mine.
Where I let people in and I let people out.
I cook. We listen to music and dance if we feel like. I like dancing.
We draw, or scribble in my book or on my walls. You take a nap, i lie beside you.
Watch movies together. Tell stories. Stare at the stars. Water my plants.
Read plays. I have a guitar buried under my bed, may be we could play some.
We could go to the strawberry fields forever.
I miss the Booboo Babies. We can be the Moment Makers.
You could draw I could colour. I could drive you could sing.
I could cut you could cook.
We could Esc and we could Delete.
We could Ctrl and we could Alt.
You can live and I could love. You could love and I could live.
We can close our eyes and see the picture perfect life inside.
Last line-Tracy Chapman, in broken.
Strawberry fields thanks to the Beatles.