|
|
I press too hard. The truth is that my hands are too small and my thoughts are too fast for this to be a melody that will make sense. Even for a guitar Nina is so patient. The sky is almost purple there is a song in me the color of the sky but I cannot find a way to make it come out. I am cloudy and my fingers are sore and I press too hard. Everywhere I go I look at hands, and truthfully, mine are too small. Yet there is a callous on my thumb where softness used to be and there is a yielding in my heart where a wall used to be, and my thoughts circle back upon themselves like birds in the wind, diving and winding and arching and it is all too much for this to be a melody that will ever make sense. And even as I bend her, and press into her neck (�you would make a better tattoo-ist� she thinks) Nina is so patient. . How Rude! - Wednesday, Sept. 22, 2004 - 12:16 PM One small step but no giant leap. - Tuesday, Sept. 30, 2003 - 11:17 AM Where's George? - Thursday, Sept. 25, 2003 - 12:48 PM |
|
a Nifty design 
|