All The Real Girls (Green, 2003)

There are times I see myself in strange, exotic places. They exist in name, but in my mind they are whatever I always imagined them being. I see faces, as clear as day. If I could somehow project them, they’d all look like strangers, but I know all their names, I know their lives. Some of them have brilliant quirks, some are lunatics, and some fill my foolish ideals of love.

And in these exotic places, life happens on the whim of thunderbolts, and crashes like tidal waves. It burns to ash, blackens my finger tips, and swirls like the knots in my wood-paneled walls. It’s slow and sweet like hard candy, and every smile is sincere.

I guess that’s everything. All that’s left is the dead grass and daydreams.

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