H O P S C O T C H

prev | next

2002-04-28

Chopin and dishwater. I feel longer in the mirror, stretching here in ballet movements in the narrow hallway of my apartment picking up the pieces scattered of last week before tomorrow.

I just want to be quiet for a long time in a nook listening to piano, glancing down at my fingernails, blinking a blink too long, and daydreaming in dreams that outdo the night. I just want left alone in stillness. Life keeps changing everyday.

Phone call from Vermont. A Norman Rockwell existence in the only state without Wal-Marts. I want an apartment with a extinct fireplace and thick mortar. Built-in bookshelves and window sills. I think this call was the call. A baby of a program on a college campus and a friendly voice.

He's going to follow me there. Together but separate living arrangments. I want a small two bedroom house perhaps. He hints in laters sometimes. Later. Later...

And quiet. A slowdown into Liszt. This is it.



archive | diaryland