Listening to 1979. Transition and growing up and being young. Was I ever that young? That carefree? I can't remember.
I miss the way things were. When we'd call each other every day; the thrill of the chase when I was in between boyfriends, invariably getting caught by someone other than the intended prey; when my park was a refuge, a sanctuary, empty stalls to my warbling center-stage voice. Dark and consoling. Now, I'm stagnating. I haven't grown this summer. I haven't matured. It disappoints me. I may be repaired again, sane again, but I am not proud of myself.
And you didn't call or write. You said you would.
Readin'
Listenin' to
Thinkin' about
Most recently I was 
