it looks like i missed out on life,
everyone’s life.
i was just here.
i was just here.

i have had
to say goodbye to my youth
as a child
who never felt it anyway
except in the phantom terror
of what i would never be.

i have said goodbye
to love
and have never had luxury
of looking back.
i have built a monument
to thinking, to indecision,
to fading
away into mid-level merit.

and when i cry now
i feel the tingle
from limbs that are
long gone.

waiting for the amtrak in philly. sitting under some umbrella but we’re indoors and so I don’t quite understand. I think I forgot my sweater pattern. Which is really brilliant because I didn’t forget the eight balls of yarn I bought to make it. 

Reading… 54; tragically delicious.

“Right now, I am thinking in French, but I am speaking in English.” And now I am thinking in English on the train. To myself, looking out the windows. I will think now, on purpose, to make phrases and to practice them. Out the window, the back-splatter of trees at the edge of the field. The field with tall grass. The sun striking through the air. That pond filmed over, places I might not see again. Gentle phrases, gentle grass.

Elliott sank below words when she looked down to the stiff polyester train seat. She passed her hand over it and her fingers tingled on the synthetic pattern. It was almost seven thirty in August and a pity that she couldn’t smell the mustard growing along the tracks. It was a pity that she could not have sat on that little hill and waited for the quiet crushing noise of bugs after the rush of the train, could not twist her foot on a knotted root and tumble into a patch of cooler air under its shadow.

make you look prettier, or smarter, or cooler. it just makes you look miserable.

helped me score so many freaking points on my gre. !! and you know, i’m going to see a gypsy!