Saturday, February 26, 2005
Laur @ 11:43 PM
listening to Howie Day
I guess sometimes (when it's raining and the sky is just the right shade of grey) I feel like I'm nowhere
simply floating
and instead of pushing me down, the rain holds me up.
Laur @ 11:36 PM
listening to Howie Day
On cold sunny days, the wind is bittersweet and it leaves a strange aftertaste in the back of your throat each time you breathe. It's one of those things you've simply learned to live with, like the fact that his eyes never meet yours in the hallway (although that was not so simple). Each day on the walk from your car to the building, you wonder the same thing; will today be any different? You open the door and the wind meets your breath in the back of your throat; you swallow and the scratching sensation causes you to cough.
Immediately you head to the water fountain, to wash the taste from your tongue. You realize the answer to your own question as you lean down and begin to drink.
No.
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
Laur @ 11:20 PM
listening to Dear Joan by Tabitha's Secret
She has softball dirt under her fingernails as she combs them through your hair (you can close your eyes and imagine you are at the beach). When her eyes meet yours, you smile (grains of sand now sticking to your scalp; you both know you're going to need a shower).
"Your hair is so tangled," she observes (have you already used all the hotel conditioner?)
"Do you think you're making it any better?" "No, but I can."
(Oh, she must have brought extra).
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