Sitting (sweating), waiting in a car, listening to my usual song
I ask myself whose lips am I dreaming of exactly? No one I've ever kissed. No one I've met. No one I've ever seen before. I'm not wanting someone, I'm waiting to give more of myself.
I had an image of a butcher selling the most extraordinary cut of meat in his lifetime, his own heart. Too exquisite and rare for anyone to afford whole he sells it piece by piece. Pun aside, deep down he knows every slice will be turned to shit but this isn't important. All he cares is that all of it is bought, every inch and drop of blood is tasted before it spoils. Nothing could be worse than throwing away his own heart as so much rotting meat.
... If it were me I'd eat it myself or keep it in a jar of embalming fluid. Maybe feed it to stray cats.
vanessa:
i miss yooou.