snapshots on the side of the highway, glove on a severed hand, telling me to go back. there's lists and shiftings and awkward silences and big, two story windowpaned walls with perfect yellow industrial light inside. I love yous on the sidewalk and I need to change everything, still. mix tapes aching to be made. aggresive sex, rambling blog entries that nobody gives a shit about and you, sitting in the corner of your apartment, alone, wondering what the hell just happened. I want to make a soft nubby brown scarf before it's too warm to wear it. (distance has a way / of making love / understandable...) and the songs trail off somewhere in the back of my mind. I'm fighting off the sleep. 49 pictures are glossy and packaged and on their merry way, and it might be the beginning of everything. kristin, I need to make my website work. my boots are loosening and it's gone from having a warm day during the cold weather to having cold days during warm weather (almost, almost). I don't want to waste my life in the waiting place, in the middle of everything great that hasn't quite happened yet, because it isn't enough. I'm in love and it's terrifying and gorgeous all at once. pillows and yellow paint and an old camera calling me from somewhere I can't seem to find.
there's a lightheartedness and a seriousness about it all, and these updates are suddenly so important. shannon said, "every time I play the wrens I think of you," and that and the glove on the side of the highway made everything fall into place.
I've got to go make some lists.
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