she's moved a thousand times and it's always the same: blank walls where her innumerable picture frames used to hang. dusty shelves where books and earrings and stationary used to gather. during each move (always in summer), sadness twists her heart into a knot that will surely burst and salty tears freely flow down her sticky summer-freckled face.
but this time is different. she's not crying. she can't cry. her age has rendered her emotionless or maybe it's her readiness.
still, i don't know why i took all the pictures down. i fucking hate blank walls.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
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