At 17, I fell in love with love and it has been one hell of a ride since.
It used to be that a voice on the wire could sustain me longer than bread and water. This was evident from my emaciated frame and constant look of hope.
By all written accounts, mostly contained in green denim, I was a scared child clinging to dreams made real by Julia Roberts and Meg Ryan. I believed the fairytale and lost my sense of self.
That strangers didn`t slap the stars from my eyes amazes me still -- Momma tried. Her stars had fallen years prior and she knew their burn. I ignored Momma and ran. Only my stars were stolen.
Too young to enter into contract, but playground promises are binding. Love is the only true indian-giver and ours was no exception. Now no one can own me and I remember everything but your voice.
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...the FIRST and the FORTIETH Drink
40th Drink
It's easy dismiss things we say as being "drunken speak," but really, they are so much more than that. Inebriation, intoxication, liberation.
Because "the truth lies in between the first and the fortieth drink."
HIStory
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- The Distant Past (16)
- The First (8)
- The Near Past (8)
- The Present (34)
1 comment:
"Love is an indian-giver..."
That's a little like saying that an ice-cream is an indian-giver, because the the stuff demands your complete attention lest it melt away.
Love is mercurial. And a good thing too. If you want to catch it, pin it down, make it functional and reliable and permanent, you'll kill it.
Even the longest, most loving marriage is nothing more than a series of days made richer, simply by enjoying them with someone else.
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