tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-87965127029576895552011-07-31T01:54:24.219-05:00The skeleton that lives under the skin of my stories.Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.comBlogger501100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796512702957689555.post-85454581716516213362010-03-04T23:00:00.003-06:002010-03-04T23:07:56.071-06:00

I can see you behind my eyelids. I'm trying very hard to sleep on this hard floor and in this sleeping bag that smells like old shirts and your dog, but you are lying so close to me and I can see you behind my eyelids. And I can hear you breathing. When you're sleeping, I mean REALLY sleeping, your breathing sounds like your dreams are running marathons, or like you're about to explode with

Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796512702957689555.post-57575869386527351562009-07-07T10:41:00.002-05:002009-07-07T10:50:04.902-05:00

So I haven't written in a while. A word. On this blog or in my journal or anything. It's a little scary since, y'know, I'm supposed to be a writer and all. But I HAVE been living. And loving. And longing. And all sorts of other fun stuff. I recently relocated from the lovely Chicago to...well, back to my parent's house in Philly (or, really, NEAR Philly). Turns out college is kind of expensive,

Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796512702957689555.post-29657775201225265182009-05-02T01:14:00.001-05:002009-05-02T01:14:40.749-05:00

Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796512702957689555.post-92137297804574267952009-05-02T00:27:00.004-05:002009-05-02T01:05:39.499-05:00

You were my first love. Yes, Taylor Hanson, you whose juicy, dripping wet voice sang lead vocals on catchy hits like “MMMBop,” “Where’s the Love?” and “I Will Come to You,” and continues the juicy-voice-ness at the front of the brand new supergroup Tinted Windows. When I was thirteen, I fell in love with you and your big blue eyes and long blonde hair, your rat-tail and your keyboard and all

Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796512702957689555.post-60827047115720574932009-04-30T02:52:00.001-05:002009-04-30T02:54:07.057-05:00

This is purty. And also from the show "House."

Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796512702957689555.post-71020995721647287282009-04-29T02:23:00.001-05:002009-04-29T02:24:51.989-05:00

Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796512702957689555.post-80159206851627865822009-04-28T04:27:00.002-05:002009-04-28T04:30:08.547-05:00

...which greatly increases the appeal of gentlemen age thirty and up. And up.

Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796512702957689555.post-60958219905564623942009-04-28T04:19:00.003-05:002009-04-28T04:27:10.998-05:00

I'm excited about this new bit I've just written, mostly because I changed a lot of things about Kyle Kane that I didn't like, made him into a character I could actually imagine Fiona being attracted to, instead of some stupid stereo-typical, flat character, y'know? I've been having a lot of novelistic breakthroughs this last semester. Maybe because Joe Meno is pushing me to not be a wuss? How

Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796512702957689555.post-70882480895091010322009-04-28T01:51:00.000-05:002009-04-28T01:52:12.110-05:00

Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796512702957689555.post-83372234907169807492009-04-08T15:00:00.002-05:002009-04-08T15:04:29.909-05:00

After Conor, I started dating a guy, a nice guy who wore lots of t-shirts and knit hats and black frame glasses, who slept curled around me and who was masterful with his tongue and who liked to read books and who made tea. We did crossword puzzles together in the mornings, sitting at the sunny kitchen table and discussing our English professors. My friends called him “sensitive” and “loving.”

Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796512702957689555.post-38522630637560404292009-03-08T16:40:00.001-05:002009-03-10T16:39:00.710-05:00

Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796512702957689555.post-79717006941492704412009-02-22T02:50:00.003-06:002009-02-22T03:04:44.338-06:00

i have found what you are likethe rain, (Who feathers frightened fieldswith superior dust-of-sleep. wieldseasily the pale club of the windand swirled justly souls of flower strikethe air in utterable coolnessdeeds of green thrilling light with thinnednewfragile yellows

Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796512702957689555.post-34671281704199865252009-02-21T23:55:00.003-06:002009-02-22T00:07:45.448-06:00

brain stuck on kb even though he is not going to call. brain won't stop making his face fade in behind eyelids, the set of his chin, the half smile of his mouth. brain keeps seeing that mouth and that half smile when he said, "you can use your words." yes, yes, kb, brain knows all about words, but brain turns into something like the consistency of oatmeal when your eyes are focused on face and

Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796512702957689555.post-43974042829301173912009-02-21T23:38:00.001-06:002009-02-21T23:40:48.759-06:00

When you’re confessing your undying love to your best friend, you probably should not do it while he is ten feet above you, cleaning his gutters on a rusting aluminum ladder. You probably should not do it while he is elbow deep in slimy, phlegmy leaves and already scowling, and you have emptied half your flask and already smoked nine cigarettes and it’s only 10:00 in the morning.You probably

Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796512702957689555.post-75918950763532031972009-02-16T16:51:00.001-06:002009-02-16T16:52:19.782-06:00

I spent so long trying to figure out how to fix this short story, and last night I did it without even thinking. I am incredibly proud of myself.That is all.

Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796512702957689555.post-13690055214966175092009-02-15T21:51:00.007-06:002009-02-15T22:34:33.259-06:00

Against my better judgment and the advice of a very intelligent young lady, I am about to document here one of my (many) Very Bad Ideas. Please note two things, before reading more.1. This is meant to be funny. Read this and know that I am chuckling to myself, despite how frustrated it will sound. I really find myself, especially the things I do when alcohol is involved, absolutely hilarious most

Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796512702957689555.post-45757614321009122192009-02-15T21:47:00.001-06:002009-02-15T21:48:48.595-06:00

"Contact! Contact! Who are we? Where are we?" - Henry David Thoreau

Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796512702957689555.post-67405485038661587182009-02-15T21:26:00.002-06:002009-02-15T21:35:29.578-06:00

I stole this idea from Megan Stielstra, and at first I followed the rules (which are to google "{Your Name} Needs" and enter the first ten things that show up), but then I just got carried away and now here's a wonderful treat for you.1. Anna needs to be excused from class today2. Anna needs sex3. Anna needs to find a toilet4. Anna needs him (and he needs her)5. Anna needs more coffee6. Anna

Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796512702957689555.post-11722811081393215242009-02-15T19:56:00.009-06:002009-02-15T21:26:31.181-06:00

View from the back room at The Beat Kitchen, before we officially opened the doors for the Featherproof AWP After Party.

Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796512702957689555.post-71102993844978625742009-02-08T18:42:00.002-06:002009-02-08T18:50:58.289-06:00

Two of maybe the best lines I've ever written and they for sure are dripping with remembered angst and over romanticism. AND they are definitely about the same person, who exists and who I can't stop thinking about, which pretty much only makes this whole thing worse and in between those two lines is one of the best dreams I've ever had (woke up with a smile stuck to the corner of my mouth):I

Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796512702957689555.post-32379858874387811922009-02-05T21:06:00.005-06:002009-02-06T00:26:38.383-06:00

I've been thinking a lot about the stories that you love as a kid, and how they shape your imagination and creativity...just how they affect you in general. I mean, Ray Bradbury was inspired by Lewis Carroll's "Alice in Wonderland," and it's pretty clear the affect it had on him (incase you're wondering why I'm talking about Bradbury so much, it's because I'm taking a class on him at Columbia ♥ )

Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796512702957689555.post-46150738780878059962009-02-05T20:28:00.001-06:002009-02-05T20:28:49.981-06:00

is awesome.

Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796512702957689555.post-539662146029691962009-02-05T18:34:00.002-06:002009-02-05T18:56:10.447-06:00

In response to reading Ray Bradbury's "The Emissary," I found it necessary to write this.This (or a version of it) will also be posted on Sam Weller's Ray Bradbury blog, once it's up!Well hello, smell. Where have you been in all my stories? Because here you are in Mr. Bradbury's story, all perfectly described so I can actually smell the words. But you haven't been hanging out with my writing

Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796512702957689555.post-11261515414977772432009-02-04T00:15:00.004-06:002009-02-04T00:19:13.800-06:00

We seriously need to do our dishes. Let it be known, though, that less than one third of those are mine. Maybe two mugs from all the tea I drink, and a POM glass, but definitely not any of the other dishes, since I'm too broke to buy food right now. And yes, I'm starving.

Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796512702957689555.post-24029268087043187722009-02-01T22:33:00.003-06:002009-02-01T22:40:32.387-06:00

-- I want to live in a house on a lake (or the ocean) in the woods with a boat and a lover.-- My dream car: 1967 Chevy Chevelle-- I want a garden. Mostly for vegetables and herbs. but I wouldn't object to a flower or two.-- When I move to Asheville, I would like to get a dog. I will name him Atticus Finch.-- I want a whole room to write in with big windows and walls and walls of books. I want it

Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796512702957689555.post-66380990973057312332009-01-30T22:05:00.002-06:002009-01-30T22:19:57.525-06:00

So I had a month and a half off for Columbia's Winter Break, and toward the end of it, I was feeling miserable and unproductive and horrible and so not creative... it was a tearful, depressing few weeks.BUT classes have started again-- my final semester of undergrad-dom-- and with them, life is looking better. Here's why:1. My classes are amazing and so are my teachers. I have a Critical Reading

Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796512702957689555.post-28053465807127539872009-01-16T19:29:00.002-06:002009-01-16T19:33:23.746-06:00

Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796512702957689555.post-63840748869003340042009-01-16T19:23:00.003-06:002009-01-16T19:28:14.500-06:00

"The very core of a man's living spirit is his passion for adventure. The joy of life comes from our encounters with new encounters, and hence there is no greater joy than to have an endlessly changing horizon, for each day to have a new and different sun." - Chris "Alexander Supertramp" McCandless

Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796512702957689555.post-28162075308781729922009-01-03T16:52:00.002-06:002009-01-03T17:13:37.400-06:00

So back when I had a crappy job but made a lot of money because I worked more than I did anything else, I bought this camera: Canon Powershot SD 1000 Digital Elph, 7.1 Megapixels, pre Maria Sharapova ad campaign. I named this camera Malificent. Malificent and I went everywhere together. She completed me. Then, in April of 2008, my drunk cousin dropped Malificent while using her without my

Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796512702957689555.post-51028324827685115262008-12-29T14:48:00.002-06:002008-12-29T14:58:20.218-06:00

My brother found these glasses at a dollar store last year, and I rediscovered them the other day in a drawer in a bathroom at my parents' house. We HAD to play with them. Seriously, how could we not?

Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796512702957689555.post-63608602323427529562008-12-16T22:00:00.003-06:002008-12-16T22:12:40.597-06:00

house with natalie portman's apartment through my bedroom closet (tight squeeze), devendra banhart lying on her couch, the dining room table and chairs outside on the lawn, rachel howard sitting on them, waterfall and forest in the back yard.I can't help but wonder what dreams really mean. Is it our belief in a deeper meaning that gives them their ominous, all-knowing qualities, or are they just

Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796512702957689555.post-3847102341926095772008-12-06T17:05:00.009-06:002008-12-06T20:02:36.301-06:00

So I'm having problems. A couple few, to use my father's terminology.1. I am still jobless. Being jobless means little to no cash flow. And the little cash flow that exists is all an outpouring, not an inpouring (which I don't think is a word, but I'll claim artistic license on this one). Luckily, I'm still in school, so I feel a tiny bit less guilty about spongeing off my parents for the time

Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796512702957689555.post-67310287359587211582008-12-01T15:12:00.003-06:002008-12-15T03:41:10.378-06:00

This is why I can't write about you. This is why I can't think about you: because once I get started, I can't stop and I can't sleep and my whole body is calling out for you through the walls. I won't sleep better alone, and neither will you. Let me feel the scratch of your beard against my face, let me snuggle into the warmth of you (can I have a kiss?).I am thinking about how yours is the only

Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796512702957689555.post-87037979898315710042008-10-29T20:51:00.005-05:002009-02-16T02:43:49.509-06:00

"Like a corkscrew to my heart, ever since we been apart." -Bob DylanDear Possible Love of My Life,This isn’t funny. Do you see me laughing? Because I’m not. Okay, well, sometimes I am, but only when I’m with you, which doesn’t happen often. I need you so much closer, Possible Love of My Life. All these miles that our lives have put between us make my heart ache until you come visit. And it only

Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796512702957689555.post-46317548381268132832008-10-22T17:34:00.003-05:002008-10-22T17:40:41.773-05:00

This whole getting dark at 6:00 thing is really getting to me. I can already feel my brain screaming as it dries up from complete lack of serotonin. And the fact that finding a job has become almost horrifically difficult doesn't help things either. Not only does it make me feel like an incompetent, under-qualified loser, but it throws a real wrench in my whole "save money" thing (mostly because

Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796512702957689555.post-52254272924014834922008-10-22T02:39:00.003-05:002009-05-29T23:45:38.045-05:00

Boys are always warm. Like portable heaters that are lean and comfortable. But D was warmer than any boy whose heat I've usurped before; warmer even than P was the night I slid inside his sweatshirt with him on top of the hill and pressed my forehead against his neck.And when D wrapped himself around me under the blanket on the trampoline last weekend, when he pulled me back against his chest and

Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796512702957689555.post-73466299394505282962008-10-21T15:28:00.004-05:002008-10-21T15:44:23.640-05:00

So, let me begin at the beginning. Michelle, my old baby sitter and the sweetest woman on the planet, got married last weekend in Sarver, PA, where I grew up. Sarver is about forty-five minutes outside of Pittsburgh, but it's not a suburb. It's country. Country like cornfields and woods that don't end in developments or warehouses, forests that just keep going, that you could get lost in. Rolling

Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796512702957689555.post-85386211777501245242008-10-20T00:49:00.004-05:002009-02-02T23:47:38.722-06:00

Dear First,You were just a boy on a bench by the fire. Your hood was pulled up over your hair, shadows hanging in your eyes. Your jeans were torn and you jabbed the coals with a blackened stick like you were angry at them, like they had somehow offended you. I could only see your mouth, full lips curled in a scowl, and your hunched shoulders. The keys on your belt jangled sometimes with the force

Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796512702957689555.post-34629945811354447392008-10-13T21:52:00.003-05:002008-10-14T01:23:30.756-05:00

Many guys say they like a forward girl, things like, “I like her to let me know she’s into me—it’s sexy.” This is a lie. No guy that I have ever met has responded positively to knowing that I’m “into” them. And yet I insist on applying the “let him know how you feel” approach to the gentlemen I’m interested in.For this reason, My Dating Life is pathetic at best. A stunted attempt to connect with

Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796512702957689555.post-21087956974111735382008-10-06T15:39:00.002-05:002008-10-06T15:42:01.599-05:00

Usually, in the early morning silence of 35 Windcrest Lane, Dianna Jameson could hear his heart. 35 Windcrest Lane was located so far from the main road (or any other neighbors or sign of life that could create any sort of unseemly—or even seemly—early morning noise) that the place was silent as the grave until either Dianna Jameson or her lover, Malcolm got out of bed and started making their

Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796512702957689555.post-52174317132861191372008-10-06T15:24:00.000-05:002008-10-06T15:36:56.841-05:00

I'm working on tightening this up for submission to a favorite Literary Journal of mine. Help would be appreciated.A flash of electric purple, the smell of coconut and hibiscus, and the dessert that Jordy had just placed on The Pass was gone. If he glanced out over The Pass and into The Dining Room, he would see Elle delivering the dessert to a booth full of tattooed and pierced vegan women, who

Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796512702957689555.post-64474633401116546162008-10-02T21:48:00.000-05:002008-10-02T21:56:36.386-05:00

His skin is tanned golden brown and I can see underneath it the white of his bones, shaping his wide shoulders as he leans toward the fire in the dark. Blonde hair falling into blue eyes. My fingers itch to grab hold of those tousled locks, to pull him to me, our desperate breath warm in each other’s ears. A flash of firelight, angry orange and red, on his bare chest. He stretches and leans

Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796512702957689555.post-88856422255536486352008-10-02T21:19:00.000-05:002008-10-02T21:35:36.120-05:00

So I've been thinking about memoirs. Or creative non-fiction. Whatever you want to call it. And what I want to know is, how do you end a book that's about a life, when it's still happening? How do you sit there, Mr. Kerouac, in front of your type writer and think, "This story is about my life and my life is still happening and how do I keep myself from writing this forever and ever and never end

Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796512702957689555.post-16965927704111722802008-04-21T23:56:00.001-05:002008-10-02T21:37:08.602-05:00

Dear young man who might still be a boy and who makes me feel like I'm in high school again (which, I promise, is a bad thing), but who makes me laugh and lets me pull his hair,You are my current greatest perplexity. How young you are, tall one; still floating between boyhood and manhood, on the cusp of adult. Where did you come from, with your long hair and mischievous eyes? What wave brought

Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796512702957689555.post-39545917258198332008-03-19T23:45:00.000-05:002008-10-02T21:41:41.050-05:00

I may or may not have lost my virginity to a gay man. He may or may not have been my first love.It’s not like I was desperately head over heels can’t live without him gonna die without him in love. And it’s not like he was flaming flamboyant fashion slave stereotypical fudge pounding gay. He just liked the cock; so we had at least one thing in common.The thing about Dustin, he was beautiful.

Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796512702957689555.post-56638015112682014932008-03-08T00:28:00.000-06:002008-10-02T21:42:39.402-05:00

Come hold me. Or, maybe not that. Come lie down beside me and throw your arm over my stomach and I will breathe into your hair and twist it in my fingers and smell you and kiss you and wrap my legs around you and maybe eventually, you will sleep, and I will sleep, and when we wake up, I will have more to write about.Come lie beside me while I kiss your shoulder blades.

Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796512702957689555.post-6085200719825672142008-03-06T20:56:00.000-06:002008-10-02T21:43:17.166-05:00

I have never want to touch someone as badly as I wanted to touch L. in class today. It wasn't even all sexy touching. It was mostly just touch touching. He was right there beside me, inches away, so close that every time he moved his hands, he was encroaching on my proverbial "personal space," and I was literally aching to know what his skin felt like. Blood pounded in my fingertips and I

Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796512702957689555.post-89129255319765736762008-03-06T20:34:00.000-06:002008-10-02T21:45:37.452-05:00

"...because the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes 'Awww!' " -from "On the

Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796512702957689555.post-43223511849253422892008-03-06T20:23:00.000-06:002008-10-02T21:46:08.275-05:00

"When I write, I feel like an armless, legless man with a crayon in his mouth." -Kurt VonnegutOne of my instructors at Columbia College asked me the other day how I would describe my writing. This is my answer... sort of.I think there is a difference between how my writing is and how I want it to be.I want my writing to be like music, like a song, like notes floating across the air, singing into

Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8796512702957689555.post-80267893297425855822008-03-06T20:04:00.000-06:002008-12-09T23:39:51.494-06:00

I am an unplayed piano. Unplayed by you. My keys, all smooth and ivory, are gathering dust while they wait, dying to be touched. By you, mostly, but there are some days where I just want someone, anyone (almost) to play me, apply slight pressure here and there to make rich, fine chords come out, burst out from inside of me, clearing dust and age and sadness from my depths.Make me sing, music boy.

Anna Louisehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15653977786379720330noreply@blogger.com0