sunday night

and it's like, yeah.

==

sometimes like tonight I am especially sensitive and aware of the nature of conversations, and how they stretch out, how they flow. all I have are analogies at my disposal really, and they're these tenuous glassine things, like delicate things that will break at a sneeze or a wrong breath, wasps nests, spiderwebs, two little snail shells writhing on the palm of your hand underneath a scope, sticking together in the alien netherworld that must be my skin, clinging together in something like agony or sexual (?) ecstasy as three fresh-faced curious people look on in wonder at the translucency of their shells and the thus-ethereal state of their being