Em, what are you doing?
Giving up. Giving in. It's been a hard night, I'm allowed.
Em, what are you doing?
Taking a stand. Showing my heart. Taking a risk. Allowing preference.
Em, what are you doing?
Further damage...
It's so hard. Part of me in this place is on her knees, reaching out, begging to be shown the way, to be led out of where I am back towards the discrete and understandable.
Another part wants to stand on her own and walk away, find her own path through the brambles, force her way through the overgrowth of thorns and break free of every tangle.
I can't see a middle ground. I think I've stopped trying, at least temporarily.
Tonight I went to the funeral of a friend. I wasn't his closest confidante; but I remember we talked, I remember we danced, I remember one night, when I was shaking, he sat beside me and talked me back to cheer. These aren't the acts of a stranger.
Tombstone will lack a small part of itself, but it will survive. The grave of Shucks Valkyrie will remain in town.
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but the railroad track will bring me back when the lonesome whistle cries
[[Insert, belatedly, from the Editrix: I'm getting there.]] I TOLD myself, I was not going to leave without blogging SOMETHING , b...
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