I don't even know what to write or how to write it, but maybe just by typing things will come out. I don't like being all over the place. I don't like having to ask for something again and again. There's nothing wrong with asking, but even if it may seem like it's easy to ask for something, I've always found it difficult. It's much easier for me to give than to take; let alone to ask.
Don't know anything, of course as I typed the words don't know I started singing in my head the rest of the words "there's no sun up in the sky. Stormy weather. Since my man and I ain't together. Keeps rainin' all the time." Etta James knew how to belt it, but so did Billie Holliday and Lena Horne.
I'm singing it in my head softly almost a whisper a whisper of his touch of his look of puddles and a cold chilling rain that goes through your bones and your soul alone in a house of happy smiles that hide the years of tears and paintings never framed in a pile tucked away. shadowed blinds bleaching the wood and things instead of my feelings words coming into my head not even full thoughts just shadows of the leaves the photograph of periwinkle hydrangeas on Aunt Millye's old round table in a pitcher of clear water
a phone call and music. I need music and sunshine. Louis Armstrong and crackles of sound in old recordings. Blind Melon and Mozart up next and feet moving.
I feel better.
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