Sunday, November 08, 2009

post self-destruction.

She wakes up, still very tired, on a sunny mid-afternoon fall. The bed feels lumpy and smells unfamiliar, the bedsheets are a deep blue. Squinting, she hits her head on the low roof as she gets up suddenly. Someone is breathing next to her, she feels a heartbeat reverberate through the mattress. A face, slightly hidden under the sheets, it is her best friend. 'I slept with my best friend?' her shock is too bewildered to voice itself. She closes her eyes and opens them again, and it is someone else, not her best friend. She is sad and relieved at the same time. 'Did I want to sleep with him? Did I want to wake up next to him? Maybe I was dreaming'. She dreamt of Gene Wilder for sure though, pretending she was Charlie and the chocolate factory was hers. She kept saying the lines in her head for the rest of the day:
'And so shines a good deed in a weary world.'
'Where is fancy bred? In the heart or in the head.'
'We are the music makers...and we are the dreamers of dreams.'

She stomps acorns as she smokes, a child and an adult at the same time.

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