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Sometimes I long for a turn-of-last-century life , one with white dresses flittering in the wind, shawls and parasols, net-veined straw hats.
That's not the life I've been dealt.
I've heard all my life By fifty, you have the face you deserve. I'm not dissatisfied with my face.
But what did I ever do to deserve this loneliness? It's my first memory in the world, my adolescence and youngest adulthood. For 23 years I was safe from it, mostly.
Although my doctor refuses to medicate me for it, for which I am ginormously glad, I am so depressed.
Words drip slow as pitch from my fingers.
How slow is that?
1 comment:
I know why I feel lonely, because the bastered abanded me after my Dad died!!!
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