The Battlefield Where the Girls Say I Love You



That's just the thing: we will never tell you we love you. In fact, we're here only to hold hands across state lines and yell at the world. We're here to try to touch you across this chasm of flown things. Not even that. At most, I will teach you how to make a gin smoothie when there's nothing left in the house. Hannah can teach you several languages and what to do when your car breaks up with you. Thanks for coming out.

Wednesday, July 9, 2008

it's not you. it's hannah.

here's the thing: she's trying to finish the book. thus, empty promises abound. "i'll blog tonight," she says. "i'll post in the morning," she says. next thing we know, she'll NEVER finish the deck i'm having her build out back. she'll come home mysterious, equipped with new hobbies and hair product. even now, to me, she is only a woman in a white coat on the other side of the ocean. (who did i steal that from...miranda july?)

meanwhile, i'm fielding questions from fourteen year-olds. or, equally maddening answers.

"why write poetry instead of fiction?" i ask.

"because poetry's tons easier," one girl says, earnestly.

my only warning is: if she doesn't blog soon, i'll have to resort to playlists.

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