A dream. A romance. A love. In Words. I think you prefer when the world "together" means not "a million," but just two.

  Poems to Louis


I was one of the insatiables. The ones you'd always find sitting closest to the screen. Why do we sit so close? Maybe it was because we wanted to receive the images first. When they were still new, still fresh. Before they cleared the hurdles of the rows behind us. Before they'd been relayed back from row to row, spectator to spectator; until worn out, secondhand, the size of a postage stamp, it returned to the projectionist's cabin. Maybe, too, the screen was really a screen. It screened us... from the world.


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I just don't understand him and his behaviour.
What is he doing?
Playing with my heart again?
Hurting me again.
And I don't realise it?

The repetition of the repetition.
It's like in the TV shows.
Soap operas.
Games shows.
They all make the same mistakes over and over again.

And so do I.
I'm falling for him.
And I'm falling.
Out of my body and out of my mind.

I can't let him lead again.
I have to be in control of myself.

I don't know what will happen ...
14.8.06 22:04


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