Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Late night rain
Instead, I'm listening to the rain on the roof of the bus shelter and on the street, contemplating whether it's appropriate to trust certain people, wondering why it is that I'm not invited some where tonight and yet knowing why. I should just work when I get home, I shouldn't curl up into the ball I want to curl up in and let it all matter too much but, oh, God, I want it to matter. I want to hide. I want it to matter more than the waves the humidity is imparting to my hair, or the numbness my toes are starting to not-feel, or the unadulterated breeze on the spot where I inadvertently ripped my stockings, or the fact that there is still no bus coming down this dark street.