Miss Anne Thropy
Show me a truly "unconditional" love, a house that never creaks, a stitch that won't rip,
Posts
Eaten alive.
It's an anxiety thing. Comes back every spring. Fresh foundations for some; new beginnings. A crumbling false sense of security found hiding in bed all winter for me. Store the winter coats and heavy boots in the back of the closet, with my hopes that the world really will be okay. So a glass of wine, benson and hedges and mumford and sons in a bubble bath.... and maybe tomorrow I'll have the strength to face another year of unachievements. Before I go back home to tell my mother I, yet again, have nothing to offer. "there's always next year!" "you said that last year."
I forgot about this weather
Red lips black coffee yellow umbrella. White pearls brown hair black heels. Black asphalt yellow lines grey sky. Green leaves purple lilacs blue eyes. The weather will pass.
Head space findings
I recently found a notebook I carried with me in May and June, when I first moved to Edmonton. Most of this is long forgotten, the feelings I had to expresses are ancient history. But here they are. 1. Something: It was here, within us, between us. Under the sheets, speed dial 2, the wrong shoes, the right hands to hold. We lost it. Perhaps in the park, or down the drain with the cold coffee we couldn't finish. Recycled with yesterday's cross word. Regardless of how it was found, or how it was lost, it happened. There are debts to settle. 2. I couldn't fill enough note books to display how much I hate this. I couldn't even fill one. Paper never did anything to deserve such orchestrated, impetuously violent misanthropy. I am so sorry. 3. Your direction of love changes faster than the seasons, cycles of the moon, songs on the radio. You don't know what to do with me, so how should I? You said, "Love and loss; it's a written rule." So tell me now, dea...
Maximillion, God Speed
This aloof front is fatiguing, not unlike being on the front-line in a war, but this is a war of hearts. We've got the defense systems covered, but our offense tactics are weak. Definite room for improvement, boys. Hit the showers. These hearts, disfigured from breaks, are my favourite things. A project, something vulnerable and real. Timeless. We're playing at a game with no teams. Everyone plays in solitude. Guessing at the rules, which are made up as we play. With no time line, and no end. Love is not difficult, some just need reminding. Why are we concerned about zombies attacking? What about our own self destruction?
I guess this is what blogs are for;
"I am friends with you two on different levels (read: i hang out with the two of you seperately and exclusively. Combining you two would be weird and potentially dangerous - you may find holes in my story, the recreated me I've been developing since moving here)." - me - personal insight by fluke. " your honesty is unpredictable and your vulnerability is disarming . you never disappoint." - Robyn Mooney - very poetic, and very flattering to my ego