the roses in your hand

You don't know until you know; until your breath seizes in your throat and your eyes are blind with tears.

You don't know until you watch the freedom a limb can take upon-- and then the stilted stunted breakdown in the next movement.

You don't know until you're on your knees; you don't know until the floor is an absent lover; you don't know until you come up empty.

I don't know what I'm looking for, but I find something a little like it on the dance floor.

I wish I wrested back enough control and presence of mind to do the last kicks properly. and on time. :( I love what Jessica does to music. For that matter, I love what music does to dance, and vice versa. I love what they do to me.

I am sorry, however, for losing my temper at spatially-comatose girl during class. By the time I went to look for her after Jessica's to apologise she was gone. Damnit karma. Self, unbitchify!

But oh my god I'm so glad for Thursdays. I'm so glad for every night.

when you're dreaming with a broken heart

the waking up is the hardest part

you roll out of bed, and down on your knees

and for a moment you can hardly breathe

wondering was she really here

is she standing in my room

no she's not

because she's gone, gone, gone, gone, gone