I've played this before. Playing it again. For the boys with pompadours and a bit of pride left after they've been walked across like hot coals.
I give you all my heart. My soul. Nothing like what you offer could ever be bought or sold.
I'd want no more than to come home to this barefooted and overwhelmed mess of a grown young man. Rocking pinstripes and an expression that manages a steadfast challenge and a confused inquiry at the same time.
Who can do that?
The other day young Trisha came by. Lovely as always and with the gift of making any person on earth feel worthy. She eyeballed my latest acquisitions and mentioned that she loved all of my clothes. She wished that she had them.
I was feeling out of sorts. A little nervous at being a hostess, what with my house all shambles around me as it has been lately. Over my shoulder on the way into the next room I tossed back something just to be witty. Something that I only realized was true the minute it came out of my mouth.
"Babygirl. No amount of fresh leather jackets is going to fill this hole in my soul."
One of those things that cuts down to the bone. That flippant comment I made to Trishie, it's the closest thing I've had to an epiphany in a month of Sundays.
A person needs more than *belongings* to feel like they actually *belong*, savvy?
And tonight finds me coming to terms with that fact more thoroughly than I usually do. A joke. Alone at home, falling for the okey doke.
They said that freedom isn't free and I believed them. I just wish they'd mentioned that it cannot be purchased, either.
Fuck all of this. If you want to reach me I'll be out getting ribs.
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