seems like I should say as long as this is love

My friend assures me "it's all or nothing." I am not worried. I am not overly concerned.
My friend implores me "for one time only, make an exception;" I am not worried.

Wrap her up in a package of lies, send her off to a coconut island, I am not worried.
I am not overly concerned with the status of my emotions. "Oh" she says "you're changing."
But we're always changing.

It does not bother me to say this isn't love.
Because if you don't want to talk about it then it isn't love.
And I guess I'm gonna have to live with that but I'm sure there's something in a shade of grey, something in between, and I can always change my name if that's what you mean...

My friend assures me "it's all or nothing," but I am not really worried, I am not overly concerned.

You try to tell yourself the things you try to tell yourself to make yourself forget.
To make yourself forget I am not worried.

"If it's love" she said, "then we're gonna have to think about the consequences."

And she can't stop shaking, I can't stop touching her and this time, when kindness fall like rain it washes her away.

And Anna begins to change her mind.

"These seconds when I'm shaking leave me shuddering for days" she says, "and I'm not ready for this sort of thing. But I'm not gonna break."

And I'm not gonna worry about it anymore, and I'm not gonna bend and I'm not going to break, and I'm not gonna worry about it anymore.

It seems like I should say "as long as this is love..." but it's not all that easy, so maybe I should snap her up in a butterfly net, pin her down on a photograph album.
I am not worried.
I've done this sort of thing before.
But then I start to think about the consequences because I don't get no sleep in a quiet room and this time, when kindness falls like rain it washes me away and Anna begins to change my mind and everytime she sneezes I believe it's love and oh lord, I'm not ready for this sort of thing.

She's talking in her sleep.
It's keeping me awake.
And Anna begins to toss and turn.
And every word is nonsense but I understand and oh lord, I'm not ready for this sort of thing.

Her kindness bangs a gong.
It's moving me along,
And Anna begins to fade away.

It's chasing me away, she disappears and oh lord, I'm not ready for this sort of thing.

(no subject)

There was an explosion under the Herald Square subway station this morning. Cops and firefighters everywhere when my V train pulled in. all the streets roped off, and the yelling, and the billy clubs. Needed to get to 33rd and 10th and the blockade ended way up at 37th and 5th. Where's wearemany when I need her?

this city's gonna be the death of me.

and sometimes even music cannot substitute for tears

when someone you love is out there doing a hard thing valiantly, and there's nothing you can do to help, it hurts like a stone. Distilled emotions, boiled down to crystal and salt. And what's left is just that my arms aren't long enough and I always thought that if my heart got this big it would bust.

I've got an infection where the stitches were and because of aortic valve prolapse I have to call the cardiologist and make sure I'm not diseased. I've got a bandage the size of Tuesday on the side of my nose and I feel hopeless, helpless, a bruised and ugly idiot.

Because there's nothing for me to do but stare at my blank shallow eyes and this big-ass bandage, because my arms aren't long enough and this isn't about me and there's nothing, nothing I can do to help.

Like Galia in Jerusalem, shouldering an Uzi and being a normal kid.

and I fucking hate being so fucking helpless.

stitches, twice removed

I dunno, I think I look pretty badass. could be the dark circles around my eyes, lack of sleep and a constant migraine, heh heh.

( smirk )

found me an answer in the form of an old man with a cardigan on

I missed a phone call I didn't want to miss.