The Rose
remembering at 7:45 p.m. on 2002-12-21
She is extreemly expressive in her hostilities. From her slim hands, poised delicatly =yet stiffly= around the remote to her car stereo, to the stretch of long, organized, red hair that dangles down the front of her hippish-styled Target shirt =of which she has purchased all they produced since last may= Shes batting her eyes at me, thick, clumped mascara on curled, lined eyelashes...she speaks. Her eyes slightly closing with her annunciations. Wickedly grey-blue. She is re-inventing herself she tells me, in so many words. I wonder if she knows that this process is more painful for me. Annoyances.
She tells me things I know aren't true. But I'm not allowed to defend myself against them. She reminds me of those popular girls in highschool...that hated me. Only now she's my best friend. She's so compulsive. I think I might forget the rules.
I'm not nearly so precise. Or vocal...
Or annoying.
=smile=
or is that...anyway.
I don't think she understands we are completely different. I don't think she cares.
We speed along Washington...
I'm staring blankly past the hood of her truck. She relishes this...
makes her feel close to me.
"We're so close that we can be silent".
And not have to speak.
Its just...I have nothing to say to her.
never was � never will be
