Thursday, Mar. 17, 2005 - 9:40 a.m.
Walk Home
It hasn't rained but her hair is wet and limp and lifeless. She walks on the outer part of the sidewalk-she lives for danger. She can see her home from a distance but her inner thighs have been rubbing each other for over fifteen minutes and her heart's beating rather fast.
Silently she damns herself for missing the bus, quietly she damns herself for not doing this regularly. She's been thinking about what that short bruette told her..."you're just a hard person to love. Face it, everybody LIKES you but you're difficult to love. You make it so hard - like a chore"
How can anyone say that? It pierces through the flesh and passes the heart in one short stab, letting it drain itself out, drain itself dry.
Led Zeppelin's Stairway To Heaven mentions a woman and a Piper and a winding road, and I sit here contemplating...
Happy St. Patrick's Day!!!!
