me

Barbie doll proportions, minus the height, wrapped up in your soft-diet-goth fantasy.
Birthday candle with a burnt wick.
West Ghost on the best coast.
Inhaling Grace Paley, exhaling Dan Bejar.
Somewhere in the middle of everything always, except your politics.
Sentimental packrat, super-empathetic to a fine point.
Sad Bastard.
Has a hard time condensing.
The sun, but that filtered kind through overcast.
The steely smell of earth.
Citrus fruits and ginger beer.
Cold hands, cold nose, can warm your heart.
My jury's still out on the existence of souls.
Balanced, and not.
Reaching, and staying.
Anxiety, probably.
In perpetual search of streets after rain, Seattle's best teriyaki, and the perfect night's sleep.
Light and darkness.
Multitudes contained within. Please knock before entering.
Love always.