It would be nice not to feel like I have to go around holding onto things in order to remain standing. How do people go through life without pinning themselves to things? I suppose they don’t, although some seem to be under an illusion of otherwise.
How badly do you want to be the person others believe you to be, how much would you rather escape your skin altogether? I don’t want anything but this to work out; for these days to be collectables. Now I’m not alone, now there are two people at the next table, loudly telling each other about all the things that they know.
I want you to notice me lying on the floor in the sun and cover me with thousands of feathers; the kind that are still sticky on the ends, with tiny bugs from the birds and a waterproof coating.