One day she will come for you. She will seem like a bright beam of energy reaching her hand out. You’ll never see her eyes, but you will always feel her touch. Like the early snow in the end of fall, the brisk cold she brings along can wrap you in a chilling pleasure, the hairs on your arms standing up the fresh, cold air.
posted by Andie at 5:18 PM
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
Tears are quiet friends. Not even friends, more like kind cousins. You don’t invite them over, you never really want them there, but they wipe your face off your troubles. They walk all around your heart, your gut, your brain, and they drag away the excess. That stuff will kill ya, hon. Lets pour it out. Let’s wash up and start over. They hug your cheeks and unload your eyes, and you still resent them for falling. Tears, they don’t love. They live less than fruit flies. But what are you gonna do… you need them. You can’t walk around carrying all those feelings like extra words in a sentence. It just wouldn’t make sense.