Shape is a thing that comes to you, after you have grown.
Breasts.
Waist.
Arms.
Butt.
It's a struggle between feeling fit and feeling smart, isn't it? This is the struggle. The struggle to take shape.
Job.
House.
Money.
Love (but not in a way that denotes overindulgence).
These are the sacrifices we make between sheer bliss and sweet control. You don't blame me?
You shouldn't.
It was an early morning. Anna was going for a morning run around her block. She was always found doing something worth while. She had always enjoyed looking at books about other countries. She had an infatuation with countries that had different letters to English ones. She came across a book on the ground, with funny, squiggly letters that Anna recognised to be Chinese writing. She flicked through the pages and found something that really interested her. It had birds, letters, photos of females and males and clothes that looked ancient.
She tried to decipher what the writing said over...
"Wait, so he hit you?"
"Well, yeah, but--"
"Why are you still with him? What is wrong with you?"
"I'm not still with him, per se. I'm on a break with him."
"That break should be permanent."
"You don't understand!"
"The moment a guy hits you, you should be out the door, no questions asked. You never know if he's going to do it again."
"It's not his fault!"
"No, right. His hand detached from his body and smacked you right across the cheek. Look at that! That bruise looks horrible. And you're defending him?"
***
"Wait, so she hit...
The thing about gold is: it lies inert. I mean, it shines, but...
Dubloons, you've heard the pirates speak of them. 490 years lie, ocean floor notwithstanding, and not a bit of tarnish, no rust.
Just try that with your silver, your iron, brass, your copper plate!
Gold. It runs, blurs, but -cool- it does not interact.
For this reason we think of it as pure, as spiritual:
Gold knows only its own soul.
Like a frigid bride it bides its time, growing not older, but alone
Marie Antoinette viewed the four candles on the cake. Four years. Had it really been so long?
She remembered the first time she saw the little girl selling flowers in the street. She had sent her servant to purchase a bunch, and the look of pure joy on the urchin's face had melted her heart. So much payment for such a small thing as money.
And yet she knew the importance. Marriages were made for money, Kingdoms were allied for gains in power and wealth. The day to day drudgery of the lower classes was all for the sake of...
OF SEXY. HE HAS THE PERFECT MUSCLE. WHEN HE HOLDS ME I MELT. HE IS CHARMING AND GIVING. HE MAKES ME FEEL SO PERFECT. I LOVE IT WHEN I CATCH HIM STARING. THE SMILE HE GIVES ME EVERY TIME HE SEE'S ME. HIS LAUGH IS LOUD. HE IS MY FAIRYTALE ENDING. HE IS MY PRINCE CHARMING. HERE TO TAKE ME AWAY THE PERFECT LIFE. LIVING IN HAPPINESS AND WORRY FREE. LIVING IN THE LAND OF LOVE.
He knocked the three knocks. The two rap-raps. He whistled like a wren. Then he knocked twice again. The flight attendant replied, "Captain. Pick up the phone. I'm not playing your games."
"Oh come on. Just reply with the secret knock. It's easy."
"What is it you want?"
"To go to the restroom."
"Ok. Punch in your code and I'll punch in mine, and we'll get you to the lavatory and back."
She punches her code, her hand on the handle. She waits. "Captain?" She hears three knocks. Two rap-raps. A whistle like a wren.
"Captain. I'm a grown woman....
dear bobo,
happy birthday! i am sorry i missed it, but i hummed the song for you this morning while we convoyed into the city. i think you're eight now, but it's hard to keep track 'cuz you just seem so big and grown-up each time i see you.
mom tells me you got bit on the neck by a spider the other day and that you haven't been feeling so great. she says maybe you're not having a birthday party this year 'cuz some weird stuff happened when you first tried to go back to school after getting sick....
Down six steps and under the fire escape.
Don't knock on the door, follow the hall to the end.
Go through the curtain and around the corner.
Follow the music.
Yes, just there, through that door.
Don't speak. Find a seat, even if it's on the floor.
Yes her voice is real, though you expect wings to sprout from her back at any time.
Put down your phone. This isn't for the masses. Did they make the pilgrimage? Did they risk the dank, dangerous streets?
They don't deserve to hear it. The phone won't capture it anyways.
Just sit. Listen....
One scoop of chocolate, one scoop of strawberry. He would always order that. Strawberry would go on top. I have not been in Maddy's six years, and I still remember the order. I wonder where he is now. Did he go to California? Did he take the blond with him? There was always a blond. Does he still have the golden retreiver? I was going to get a sundae, but I think I will order two scoops--one strawberry, one chocolate.