this imploding heart

I don't know why I won't let you read my notebooks.

There isn't anything in them, really. Notes to myself scribbled in a drunken frenzy. Phone numbers with no names. Appointments that were entirely forgotten because they were written in a notebook instead of on my wrist. Grocery lists. Errored Tabulations. Dress designs. Directions to parties. Open letters addressed to 'Boys I went to High School With' or 'Cop at the Grocery Store who Carries a Gun'.

but it takes everything I have not to drop my water glass and tackle it out of your hands when I walk in the room and you're casually flipping through. I snatch it out of your hands like a child unwilling to share instead. The word comes out of my mouth like a rock dropping into mud.
"Dont."

You sit with your hands face open, amazed at my ridiculous display.

"What's in there that I can't read?"

"Nothing."

"....Whatever. You know how I think life oughta be lived."

and I do. 'Like a pane of glass' you always tell me. 'I live my life like a pane of glass. You can see everything just as it is.'

but I already feel so breakable. I need to have secret steel trusses built in. Steel trusses made out of all the bad things I want to write. All the dull things I want to say. All the IHateYouIHateYouIHateYou's I don't mean. And you're just not allowed to look at those. Just because I say.

Posted by Sonya at September 10, 2003 05:06 PM