i am really inclined to think that the story’s almost entirely in the telling. an argument, a song, an event can change so drastically, if it is spoken or retold through different lips. something that comes to mind: you may think the most visible part of outkast’s ‘hey ya’ is the instruction to “shake it like a polaroid picture.” but would it be too liberal-arts of me to point to its melancholy? andre 3000 is, after all, just being honest.
i want to sink into these blankets and embrace them like a new skin, and not shed them until they grow too tight and warm and confining. and then i want to shed them off and let the mild morning light dance through my curtain and play into secretive shadows on my sleeping skin while i mend, and revive, and awaken.
p.s. it’s my birthday.