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She pulled up the window to let in the fresh air.
She had not slept very well last night, but at least she woke up feeling less shame in who she was. It was heady to recognize that she was not a proverbial "fuck yeah" but rather a slight possible maybe. It rankled, but she would have as much fun with it as she could. Besides, who could blame anyone because she had not really been authentic yet - feeling safe as being necessary to such vulnerability.
Alas and alas. She had stolen some rosemary from her neighbors so she could make him an onion pie without having to traverse to the store too much. It was pleasant to feel motivated to do something after feeling like it was all falling down - the sky and all.
It amazed her how much she was enamored with him - seeing him as just the coolest window. It sucked a bit that her beauty was faded and couldn't really make up for her acting like a dipshit; yet, there was nada to do about it except knock into the next wave like a brave crone.
What more to say. She was writing until the alarm went off. Sometimes she had nothing to say, but she had made a playlist of more songs to throw at him and was going to remind him it might be his last macon escapade. These sorts of things were the tendrils she used to try and grab him with feathers.
There was a faded spiderweb in her garage. It wasn't just a title, and she didn't know quite what to do with the departing weaver. She admired them so much, but didn't want them crawling on her mouth.
She'd rather have his lips there, but it's always possible he'll decide she's not even worth a peck. She now knew she'd have to be all right with that and maybe grow up a bit.
She loved tom waits but didn't put it on the playlist yet.
The glass was full of water, and the leaves fell.
Ah the bell! at last.
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