small wonder (bitterlipped) wrote,
small wonder

  • Mood:
  • Music:

paint the past whatever sweeping shade of rose you'd like

Everything is perfect/ly ordinary lately. Someday I will look back and accept that it's time to grow up but does it have to be now, can't I have a few more years of perfectly terrible mistakes and ridiculous decisions, I am already tired of being an adult and have played at it for less than a year. I know, I know, the timing is wrong, but when wouldn't it be?
I am (im)patiently waiting for the sun to stop hiding, promising to solve my problems with efficiency and certainty instead of bursts of retail-therapy and increasingly constant indecision
next week, or maybe sometime next fall.
  • Post a new comment


    default userpic

    Your IP address will be recorded 

  • 1 comment
"I long for the days of disorder. I want them back, the days when I was alive on the earth, rippling in the quick of my skin, heedless and real. I was dumb-muscled and angry and real. This is what I long for, the breach of peace, the days of disarray when I walked real streets and did things slap-bang and felt angry and ready all the time, a danger to others and a distant mystery to myself."

so what if my nostalgia is disjointed and unrealistic? fiction-history is the only kind we bother to repeat.