Monday, April 2, 2012
I want to be done. No, not today--sigh. Not yet. But soon. Yes, soon. And though this constant nagging is so completely annoying, so debilitating even, still, to scream the truth about you--to you, directly--like a maddened character of Clifford Odets' or Tennessee Williams'. Yes, that's what I want. And I want you to hurt, too. Hear me and hurt. And then I'll tell you to talk to me. And I'll offer you bandages. And nod. And feel my heart bursting to burst. My breath--my armor--quivering, I'll nod and hear you tell me you love me. But I won't really hear you. I won't hear you over the deafening sound of my own lying. We're twins like that.