Thought I was being so romantic, last night I started writing love songs for Fag City. For the whole thing, the whole place.
It occurs to me now, on Saturday morning, that it sometimes helps to think long and hard about the points we're trying to make. Whose eye, really, are we trying to catch? I know I've spent so much time lately being sweet and acting seductive, asking about your siblings, telling you all about what is so interesting about my day job.
When, really, I just want to run into the blue-eyed goth guy I keep seeing into at the grocery store. You know? A certain amount of honesty with ourselves. Summer is over, thank god. We can get back to work, start talking to ourselves (these last two months, this summertime was a fight between my ego and me).
It helps to be clear about our own failures and desires (these are the same thing). So I leave my awkward dates at the waterfront, there is no magick in talking about books. Grab myself together, buy fresh vegetables on my way home. And then he does show up, in black jeans and dyed black pompadour haircut, and he buys his fancy cigarettes and his fancy milk. And he sits outside of the grocery store, smoking, at 2am, waiting for me.