Memories are a great thing when you don't have to deal with the past.
Or, so you would think.
Permeation, born 9 years ago, when I was a child, with childlike dreams and adult adventures.
I'm a grown woman, approaching 35, a home owner, not married, but willing. No children, sometimes willing.
If I trace my index finger around the edges of this old place, I'm head-on with old loves, old haunts, broken hearts.
It still feels like home, like these places always do.
Like your mother's house at Christmas.
Time only progresses you forward, but some things never change.
And this cold, closed centre of the world - it's still here, whirring quietly in the digital background.
I miss writing and the way it makes me feel.
I went for a walk with that favorite optimistic cynic of mine, to his secret motel
and was happy to see so many chapters, rolling forward through piles of records and sex dreams.
Hi, I might stick around a little bit longer...but for now,
signing out, with Cat Power playing and luke warm green tea staining the mug.