if someone could only stop the camera and ask me: are you happy? perhaps I would have noticed how the morning shone in the reflected color of lilac. You are stepping off a train. A wet blank night, the smell of cinders. snow that tastes good to the sun when it licks black tree limbs, leaving us only one white stripe, a replica of a skunk and everything got still. It was February or October It was...
These friends think I’m a drag. I fantasize about starting over and...– Miranda July - No One Belongs Here More Than You