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the city is a ghost.
she whispers secrets to me in between sleep and wakefulness.
see these shadows, she says, they hide my scars.
see this man, she says, pointing to the hobbled figure pushing
a shopping cart overloaded with cans and bags, he is my heart.
my heart is alone in the cold.
my heart wanders the streets all night.
my heart is what you turn your eyes away from.
my heart.
my heart.
the city is a ghost
and like all ghosts
she just wants to be seen.
it’s 4:30 in the morning.
i feel like the only person alive.Posted on February 25, 2010
This is about loss-- of the people we love and the people we used to be. This is about letting go and growing up. This is about Janie. This is about the ocean.
This is a work of fiction. It is a place to help me write my story-- my internet notebook.
Some of the posts tell a (somewhat) cohesive narrative. These posts are numbered. Click here if you'd like to start reading the narrative from the beginning.
Other posts are things I find that are inspiring to the story-- things my character would like if she were a real, live, living girl. -N
