You like me because I tell you what you want to hear, she said and laughed, but she was right. The reasonable voices, they make me cringe and gnaw at me in my dreams (all murder, lately). There's no reason not to go, just as soon as it is at all possible. He writes me with temptations of summers in Alaskan cabins, for a second anything seems possible, isn't tomorrow November and don't we usually open the door to mad hatters and crack delusions in November?
A storm rages through New York. It leaves oceans and devastation in its wake, lost urbanites on pilgrimages to the nearest wifi-carrying coffee shops, they gather in masses at dry street corners. My roommate picks up the phone because it is the last rotary phone in civilization and doesn't require the power grid to be working. You should be here, braving the storm with us, she says. It's so good to hear your voice.
I can feel the darkness
creeping in.
...and the time has come to start...
...and the time has come to start...
...and the time has come to start...
No comments:
Post a Comment