alecto - your little bluejay (pollytrance) wrote,
alecto - your little bluejay
pollytrance

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When I Saw My Best Friend Yesterday, She Said She Never Liked You From The Start



And then I woke up and made some.

"Well where is it?" You asked.

"At home," I said. It was. It was sitting in the same place I left it, too terrified to let it out of my sight. Then, you did something else. It was so heartbreaking, it was all lies. I hate being lied to. It was all benefit and I hate it-- it was all out of self-preservation and I feel so used. You never cared, never thought I might care.

Longing. Basic human concept. We all long for something. Lucille longed for freedom. Shug longed for her father. We've all been placed in this terminal state of longing. I long for the weekend where Lon finally gives me a Saturday off, and has enough people close the store so that we can get out on time, among many other things.

Jealousy. Another basic human concept. A lot of the time it's directly connected to or stems from longing. I'm jealous of my friends who don't work and are able to still live at home because they like their room and have a relatively healthy family life. I am jealous of people with discretion and charm because all I do is repel because of my intense honesty with people. They turned up the bass so they could feel it.

I have fantasies, dreams sometimes, that I save up money and disappear to somewhere in the middle of the night never to be heard from again. Wish I was mute-- wish I was scary so that no one was ever my friend. These wishes may be fleeting but they're recurring. I always wonder what life would be like with no connection, no obligation. Being a scary mute homeless person with no family, friends. Just the curious smiles, and maybe fear, from strangers.

My dad just called me up to tell me he loved me.

I was wrong, I misread things, nothing was ever there. I felt like Judy, waking up with arms in position for embrace, but no one inside them. How disorienting must that have been? Sidestreets and vintage.





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