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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