Darling,
You have to know that River can smell all the states we have been though on my jeans. He was none too pleased that we slept through Massachusetts with no intent to ever actually make it to Boston. Lowell was a nice substitute, but the city was too small and filled with tiny girls dancing at street corners. Feathers, missing teeth, a parade of first place ribbons, and a funeral procession of losers.
I have since washed away any scent of unknown highways, but River sits at my feet and whines about never seeing the place he was born, but I have to wonder, were any of us ever born? What is our connection to life? Certainly it is not a puppy that is wiser than his helpless disposition lets on.
Darling, please hang your clothes to dry outside, i think we both need a scent of familiarity.


Kristen.

my thought process has become sloppy and vague. i've been stealing pieces of strangers conversations and making them my own, yet as fragmented as i am everything always comes back to one plot. the same story line plays out day after day without interruption. same characters executing each mark perfectly;

a boy, a cat, the faceless lush.

a boy, a cat, the faceless lush. a boy, a cat, the faceless lush. her lips,cat tails, lights out dress to the ground, a boy, a cat, the faceless lush. so it goes on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and so until i can find exactly where i placed the beginning or the middle i cannot bear to finish the part where the lush blacks out and the curtains fall.

i felt the doors dragging behind while the seasons blew in a northern wind, like any good daughter i forgot to say goodbye before i left to spend my last night in town lost in tunnels underground, banded like gypsies with an italian romeo and an albanian philosopher, trying to find that house in a hole.... i've never felt as comfortable as when they noticed something wrong with me.
" you dont sleep"
"you dont eat"
"oh god, i'm in a blackout arent i?"
romeo tried to pull apart every beauty mark or shifted glance, his smooth face holding back a gin mouth from calling out every over exaggerated feature i used to get where i wanted to be: drunk on the E train at 2am, making eye contact with foreign men, trying to make it to a bed that would only get me naked and fucked up.

ive stolen three hours for this, wasted days on the wrong train with a man that allowed me to vomit in his pocket, now, in front of you im so unsure of what needs to be said or done, or which bricks i should move to watch you tumble down without any clean break from yesterday or today. you're a house in a hole, where i've got my hand on the wall and a foot through the door,nothing left on the table but piano keys, layed out like an unwritten song, so we strung our guitars with christmas lights, falling over notes, we sang off key until our voices melted into one. you are the prettiest owl i ever did hear, i pull your breath down through the sheets, with my legs through the door you could call me a theif. destroyed the stair case in hopes to keep me around, turned the lights out and the pillows over neither of us expected the night to start like this with knowing how it would end: tiny paper notes hidden in my shoes; kicking up leaves more uncertain of what season is to come than my bending limbs that drag me further away from the part of who we were that made us a "we"

now be done with it, take my name so i'll never remember how i was so unashamed before you wore my skin.

francesco where are you?