who are you?
12/28/2001 04:47 a.m.
who are you, love? you drag me into lust with promises of forever but leave me here to die with broken hearts scattered to the wind that used to be pretty stars to watch at night. everything changes when it's tested.

i want a guy who listens to bands no one's ever heard of. i want a guy who plays guitar and sings, even if offkey, he has to sing. iwag (i want a guy) who stays up until two in the morning droning on his keyboard about life's little annoying yet beautiful things. someone whos bookshelf reflects only his minds cavities, but the cavities of his soul are represented by everything in his life. someone whos refrigerator has no vegetables, but apples and bread and debbie cakes from who knows when. someone who gets confused and writes in a journal. with sentences that take up days. someone who will wear what i crochet and not care if someone says "that is adorable, but i would never wear it". I want someone who would paint my toenails and not get annoyed if i take too many pictures or suck at what i love best-art. someone who would listen to my silly songs that i experiment with ont he guitar. someone who would stay on the phone for hours and not care if it were just silence. someone i could crawl up into and be warm with. someone who would notice me and get confused by me and just be with me. someone who is imperfect and obnoxious and argumentative and calm and beautiful and insane and sober. someone who does not want to stay in georgia forever. someone who wont constantly confuse me all of the time everyday and all the time. a girl needs a rest.

so that's what i want. and maybe someday i'll get something that slightly resembles a few of those. if not, ill just be a bitter spinster and write romance novels where the ugly nerd with glasses gets a guy like that and goes on impulse to rome and paris and lives forever in vermont or new york and never once has a conversation about her check book. i want to be an artist. im fifteen. i dont know what i want



i read in a little journal my brother used to write in. he scribbled this on the last page

leonard cohen sang to me when he sang
"i don't mean to suggest that i loved you the best.. i can't keep track of each fallen robin.. i remember you well in the chelsea hotel... that's all, i don't even think of you often."

and he's beautiful. my brother. leonard cohen is still a bit of a stranger to me. but ill find him someday. my brother is beautiful
I am currently Jumbled
I am listening to rem--up