| glass_box | ||
| jane |
{dear old friend} you make me feel like i'm in a glass box. the photographs of your friends i've never met constitute some erratic scrapbook that i can never put together. you make me feel like i'm still foolishly reaching out for my youth, not knowing it's lost forever. wanting to escape this quarantine, to smell the east coast air and drink from green bottles with you and those lovely women. you make me feel like my good times are only behind me now. you make me ache for that lost youth, and make the reaching for it sting that much more. your soundtrack is cellos, as you wave goodbye on some ship long past. something is hitting me, but i won't know exactly its significance until later, until it's lost, like everything else. |
080903 |