by Lisa Jo
What is there to talk about when you can’t talk about the things you wish you could? All the rest is just chatter, filling in the empty spaces with noise.
I’m so fucking tired of being appropriate and using restraint. I feel like my head is going to explode.
Lots of times I’ve said the wrong thing, but I’ve always tried to do the right thing. Now I can’t say anything, hardly, that I need and want to say.
Fuck.
Running, work, sex, and love. And food. What else is there to talk about?
Freckles. I love freckles.
