I've cut fresh weeds from my backyard and kept them in a jelly jar on my windowsill, next to the olive oil and basil leaves. Things just haven't been fitting right. I'm like a puzzle whose pieces were left out in the rain. My edges are flimsy and my paint's peeling off.
Do you think we could have been happy? I've taken to drinking my coffee black, and only out of porcelain tea cups with chipped handles.
I want people to think I'm interesting, I've decided. That would give me a reason not to talk to any of them, I believe. I've decided, I believe. I need to keep reassuring myself that my mind's still alive. It seems to be wavering these days.
So what does it all mean? I walk around in my slip all day, with my feet and shoulders bare. But my makeup's always done. Dark eyes and red lips. Timeless. Just like we should have been. Could have been. Were. Perhaps we still are.
I've been thinking about a lot of things lately.
I soak in the tub for 3 hours a day, smoking cigarettes and painting my toe nails. Ruby red. Does this make me more interesting? And my pearls. We can't forget about my pearls.
I mainly think of you. And imagine what you'd think if you could see me doing these things. Drinking my coffee black, soaking in the tub, painting my toe nails ruby red. I've always got a cigarette smoldering between my finger tips.
Although I'd love your fingers to be there, instead.
Come by any time, and kiss me on my lips. I just hope you don't mind a little lipstick smear.
I love you.
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