Hi again,

I think you are beautiful like plants sprout

and dew dries up and soil is a

mother to new plant children.

And everything

in between

is simply

evaporatory.

Substance you can fake

but in between

is where I find you.

I want to find a home in this

and

I want you to be building.

We can share

these walls.

We can find eachother

insulate.

avoid

am i just imagining this? it's a space. it has a shape. there were dimensions and since there was a person in it all of those previous criteria have been rendered irrelevant. it's now a void and i can fill it physically and i will. it will be enough to glance it over but that's not enough and too much. put it to the side boy.

What Will Not Become of Us.

Perhaps I'll never look like a lady because ladies always look like they have somewhere important to go and they knew the right belt to wear with their outfit. And I am getting too old to ever look like the peaches-and-cream girl who rode horses and only has to smile, closed lipped, and nod her head to get her point across. It's really a shame, though, because it seems to me that the men I'm attracted to always go for those girls. My type, the "combed-hair-secret-family-wealth-I-went-to-art-school-so-I can-work-for-my-heroes" kind of guy, falls in love with the closed-lip-smile girl over and over again. She is the girl of his fantasies. She will make everything magic. They will walk hand in hand through a field and bring watercolours and not notice when it begins to get dark. She will not try to be physical with him and he will hold back his own desires to ravish her there in that field. He knows, if he only can make her stay with him at least three more weeks, he will meet her mother and then they will be bonded for life. She is his inspiration; a slightly smiling well-bred beauty with pleasant opinions and an ivy league degree who will accompany him to his family vacation house and take naughty showers with him in the guest bathroom. She gets asked to model sometimes, her girl-next-door looks and her thin frame make her a perfect blank slate, but she prefers her job at the library.
Anyways, I will never be that girl. I smile, baring my teeth like a scared chimpanzee. Riding horses was a passing fascination for me at the age of twelve. So, when I meet those guys, I get a polite "hello," but it will never get past that. They know I will try to get physical with them in that field, no mystery there. I will not be their silent inspiration because I will always have something to say, always stating my opinion despite what is appropriate at the time. This is too much clutter for his streamlined sense of self. His need for documentation of his picturesque life will suffer for I do not take pictures or photograph well, so our time together will be limited to existing at that moment or in our memories. To him, it might as well not happen at all.