When it got worst, there was always You, whoever You was. It was never Ok but You would always make it bearable for a week or two, along with all the unbearable time we'd be together.
Then we'd start to think twice, to go with the second guess. Too much thinking, it got so when we said the old things we'd re-create the words but never the meaning.
You would be a handle on life, something to catch and hold. You always wanted my body like I wanted my soul, and neither of us would admit the other. So I would drift again, until loneliness became a crime.


I am a spinning dial on the radio. You are a voice I brush, scratch with static, smoke. When I hear you I wish I could stop spinning but it's been too long and now if I stop the world doesn't.
It darkens me, lightens. When I'm dark I'm very dark and when I'm light I... no longer recall.


The drugs eventually replaced feeling bad.


The easy answers are the wrong ones, but the only ones words will touch. It's what's behind the words that matters, and sometimes you can see it between them. The reaching from one to another.
Dark like city-glow is dark on cloud-belly.
Dark like pupils.


If I had Pandora's Box, how long would we be safe?
We never are, instead I opened my mind, it got a little better.
My heart watches like a river-stone.


The hard answers, the ones that aren't really answers at all, they're as true as you can bring yourself to be. Though, I wish they weren't.


Eventually, I could no longer just see things. Couldn't refrain from asking what they meant, from seeing that as well. One of You told me I thought too much.
She told me how she'd write that over and over when she couldn't put the paint in the right places. I think too much I think too much I think too much. It was all, I think, too much.


I would spend days recording just events, and then time would panic me, I'd spend hours recording thoughts. You never liked the telephone, so I didn't bother finding out how I felt about it.
Why is it only after I've stopped falling in love with you that I start to feel like I can love?


I remember the nights that hurt the most. I would tune the radio to a classical station and listen to music I'd never heard before. It wouldn't remind me of any bad or good times, and it would never be there later to remind me of these nights.
I remember them anyway, touching the dial and looking for a voice I'd never heard before.
I would imagine that nobody else in the world was listening when I was.

Jessica: At the bottom of the ocean,
Victoria: reigns a sea king. He was my king.
Jessica: He was so proud, diamonds in his crown.
Victoria: He was so proud, always so proud. I'm going away, I can't stay and
Both: I hope you find out someday, Sea King, Sea King. Can't you see that you're so silly? Sea King, I know things, and without love, you won't get far.

When they sing, I can't help but smile. They harmonize and smile with each other, perfect sisters. They both have blonde hair and blue eyes, with fantastic voices and great values. Compassionate, charismatic, friendly. Funny, thin, perfect.

I envy them so much. I envy all of my sister's perfect friends. I try to impress them with cake, and scones, and jokes, but I can't win them over. I'm too young, with too many flaws and imperfections.

And one day, I tell them so.

And Victoria sits in the blue chair, looking at me, then she finally sings to me with her perfect voice even through her cold, "Can't you see that you're so silly?"

I can't.

She says, "You're one of my best friends. I don't like you for your cooking or your jokes, I like you because you make my day with little things you do. You're so sweet to me all the time. I'm so sorry if you feel excluded or like you aren't good enough for us."

It's almost too hard not to cry.

Victoria hugs me as Jessica says, "We love you, Lindsey."

I say I love them, too, and then I wake up.

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