A collection of consciousness with a side of mashed potatoes
Sunday, October 5, 2008
Maybe I can only write when you're around...
My new wool sweater is chafing my neck right now. I'm creating a barrier with my hand. Holding my shoulder and examining my pointy bones with my pinky. We're not made of much- mostly air and water. What's that flow I feel blocked? You're not around. I'm empty.