So remember the rainbow? I was listening to music. It doesn't matter which band I mention here--imagine a perfect song. Imagine the sort of song that sings to you. Do you know what I mean? It registers inside you and you shift a little on the inside. It is a near physical sensation. I would rather remind you to think of that feeling rather than assume you get that same feeling--as I do--by saying "It was an acoustic recording of Radiohead's 'Paranoid Android.'" That song could mean nothing to you, right? So I would rather you think of any other song in the world that has moved you--sang to you, which is how I like to put it, and no, I don't think that's a redundant way of putting it--and hold that in your head as you picture this rainbow and how things looked from here.
After walking Eric to his car, he offered to drop me off in his, and I thought to myself that was a retarded idea, what with us having had sex, and even though it was a lie I said I'd rather walk. And I thought of the song "Umbrella" by Rihanna, and thought how that's nothing at all like me. Or maybe it's exactly like me. Some girls, like me, think that we are--how do I put this. Sexy monks, almost. Alright, let me explain. We think we are being kindhearted when we see a relationship with an expiration date and we take it on anyway. "Oh, young man. Don't you see that you and I have too little in common, that you'll never know me the way I want to be known, and that I'll know way more about you than you'll ever know about me?" Some of us pretty girls are just sparkling conversationalists--we're not in love with you!--and are perfectly capable of having great sex and talking to you about your childhood and your parents. Sometimes we're even insightful. And it's not our fault--dammit--that we like to be physical, have a deep conversation, and move on. Is it? Or am I really a horrible person? ...Do I use people?
These were my thoughts. I guess I'm pretty self centered.
...I made it to my car, my clothes only a little soiled, and heart thoroughly sunk.
After walking Eric to his car, he offered to drop me off in his, and I thought to myself that was a retarded idea, what with us having had sex, and even though it was a lie I said I'd rather walk. And I thought of the song "Umbrella" by Rihanna, and thought how that's nothing at all like me. Or maybe it's exactly like me. Some girls, like me, think that we are--how do I put this. Sexy monks, almost. Alright, let me explain. We think we are being kindhearted when we see a relationship with an expiration date and we take it on anyway. "Oh, young man. Don't you see that you and I have too little in common, that you'll never know me the way I want to be known, and that I'll know way more about you than you'll ever know about me?" Some of us pretty girls are just sparkling conversationalists--we're not in love with you!--and are perfectly capable of having great sex and talking to you about your childhood and your parents. Sometimes we're even insightful. And it's not our fault--dammit--that we like to be physical, have a deep conversation, and move on. Is it? Or am I really a horrible person? ...Do I use people?
These were my thoughts. I guess I'm pretty self centered.
...I made it to my car, my clothes only a little soiled, and heart thoroughly sunk.
