Life is pain, Highness
Jul. 26th, 2001 09:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
judecorpOnce upon a time, in a land that was round on both ends and 'hi' in the middle, there lived a little boy. The little boy was trying to get her life in order, and she wasn't quite sure how to do that. Everyone was trying to be so helpful and strong, and the little boy wanted to be strong for them. So she bought a brand new bed, and moved it into a room that once housed two people's combined dreams. And every day she moved a little bit more of the dream out, and a little bit more of the boy in.
On one particular Thursday night, she carefully packed the wedding album, though she got sidetracked by reading the wedding journal and the guestbook. And then she went into the other room and carefully picked up the beautiful glass castle caketop, and she packed that, too, back in its cocoon of packing peanuts. And she packed the little glass champagne flutes, engraved with a little prince and princess and bearing their names. She stuffed these things inside a big plastic Rubbermaid tote, because such things truly are gifts from the gods.
The little boy hung up photos from summer camp, and put out candle holders she'd made in pottery class. Sure, they were supposed to be mugs, but she didn't know just yet how much clay shrinks in the kiln, for they were her first creations. They were the perfect size for votives, and thus she uses them.
Did she try hard enough? Is she giving up? Is it wrong to want intimacy in such affairs?
The little boy tacked up a tattered 1993 New York City subway map. She sat on her new, independent bed, facing it, and watched it for what seemed like a very long time.
It didn't have the answers, either.
On one particular Thursday night, she carefully packed the wedding album, though she got sidetracked by reading the wedding journal and the guestbook. And then she went into the other room and carefully picked up the beautiful glass castle caketop, and she packed that, too, back in its cocoon of packing peanuts. And she packed the little glass champagne flutes, engraved with a little prince and princess and bearing their names. She stuffed these things inside a big plastic Rubbermaid tote, because such things truly are gifts from the gods.
The little boy hung up photos from summer camp, and put out candle holders she'd made in pottery class. Sure, they were supposed to be mugs, but she didn't know just yet how much clay shrinks in the kiln, for they were her first creations. They were the perfect size for votives, and thus she uses them.
Did she try hard enough? Is she giving up? Is it wrong to want intimacy in such affairs?
The little boy tacked up a tattered 1993 New York City subway map. She sat on her new, independent bed, facing it, and watched it for what seemed like a very long time.
It didn't have the answers, either.
