worth.

2006-07-02 4:58 p.m.

every fall here means the winter might be coming. the peak seasons bring the people out of hiding, bring our tongues out of their slumber, and we start talking
over the balance that we carry, over debts and their forgiveness, over the loss of being honest. footprints in flocks and summer dresses, the fashion and the fury of impressing, these things mean nothing to us, mean giving up and second-guessing our progression, mean compliments from strangers that cannot know
that could never really know
what they were seeing.

smaller movements, we try
to be considerate, but our rambunctious childhoods overtake us, and there are faces in the mirror that will not meet us, will not marry us to our memories, no matter how long we spend thinking about them. we can cut. we can cover up. we can be effective at curtailing certain questions, but this time is still a revelation - our bodies
won't be tolerant much longer, won't keep swallowing these comforts, unafforded.

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