Sunday, November 28
6:26 am

and, oh...

there is nothing, really, like the incessant sound of ornithological sex calls to usher in the new day.

Post a Comment
= 1 =

5:48 am

it's really early in the morning (which is about as close as you'll ever get to an apology)

in response to the relentless nag nag nagging of the friends, i must reiterate that the result of posting in the throes of acheybreakyheartdom will be Very Maudlin Writing Indeed. and in this Time of Exam, who needs that, really?

i mean, no one needs to hear about how (months after i'd removed it, long past the fade of the tan, when even the indentation had ceased to indent) i sometimes still feel, like some phantom limb, the pressure of a cool metal band against my skin.

and come on, there's really no public demand for the story of how, apropos of nothing, the soft press of the air can feel remarkably like a circlet of silver; so remarkably that the second-and-fourth fingers feel the familiar scrape.

who would be interested, anyway, in why it is that when i press the tips of the fingers of my other hand to the exact spot where it used to rest, i can almost, almost (butnotquite) feel the rough scratch of a diamond-edge? (by the by, the fingers close on air and skin, and all i feel is the thrumming of a pulse)

or how, ladymacbeth-like, i touch and scrub and stare at the offending spot, always aware of how close to the edge of lunacy this may make me seem?

so really, there's no call for my inflicting these little bursts of VMWIs upon you here (i'll find some way to do it passive-agressively at ya in real life anyway). meanwhile, i'll write when i write and i will damn well sound happy and cheery when i do.

(okay, soon, i swear)