Lately the world has looked like smoke.

In the daytime the sunlight is too bright- Lisa has to sit on the left so my eyes don't hurt when I look at her face; there's white that swirls around the corners.

I was curled up annotating Duffy poems for Lit yesterday, and strange things happened. Reading Duffy is like being operated on- she touches on raw nerves, raw flesh; pulls out the tiny frazzled wires that link your thumbs and knees and darkest thoughts and pincers them/you like a marionette.

A few nights ago I was in bed, state of half-slumber; -- sudden, tight contraction in my chest and my eyes flew open. I realized it was because I'd forgotten to breathe.

...Who the hell forgets to breathe in their sleep?

But I look tanned and silent and strong and so it will be all right. This will be worthwhile, I know it will be.

Besides-- who needs oxygen when you've got friends like mine?

The constant 6ams, straining limbs, visions of litheness. black camisole by the bedside crumpled from a night I never had out. Rewind to last week when I kissed the boy slowly in the park; twilight, goodnight-- second chances? second guesses. no, don't think twice.

stick to your guns, girl; strip to your stockings.