Thoughts and words rushing to my head, in such a way I can not get them out fast enough. Am I inspired? Is this the first time in months? In a year? What is this achey feeling in my heart? Is it the music, the drowing dreary music that makes me think about being tortured, about my skin slow being pealed away and yet, I still giggle to myself, under my breath, as if to hide it from my own heart. Is it the first sign of life I've had in months, someone reaching out, saying, Yes, this is you and this is me. Up and down, we are the people we are, I understand you?

I have done something nice for someone, simply because it was the best I could do. How do you console someone when half your life is taken away, you say, "God damn them, Karma, and all such nonsense, so on and so forth," and give them a pack of cigarettes pressed underneth hand made gift wrap.
I catch myself in the mirror without meaning to, my eyes are red, they are red and puffy, deep deep circles under my eyes. I said, "I may have cried every day last week." She says, "Oh honey, Oh honey." I'm not asking for sympathy. This means I'm not broken, the clock is still ticking, my cogs are still turning, no more wrenchs, perhaps they flung themselves out.
I think so much, this is not who I am, I say, I am not a girl, a girl named James and nothing more, who lies about only one thing and feels guily for the thrill of having someone tempt you with death, because inside it is still this romantic thing. This thing where I think, 'Forever and ever, you can be here. Remembered because you were so loved.'



This is ramble. Go thoughts, go and be free! Off with you now!

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