Friday, March 25, 2011

She & I

She goes between countries. I go between grocery stores.

She travels the way I read: voraciously.

She can change money in any language; I can quote Lolita.

She runs. I eat french fries, cheesecake, double shot lattes.

When we were 16 that she told me she had libraries inside her. I felt that I had at most a pamphlet, maybe a few books.

She knows exactly how to care for her hair, spending hundreds of dollars on fine, organic products, sharing them with me in special, miniature glass jars.

I float between Hair Cutteries, searching, dissatisfied, never going to the same place twice as if I've just been to a Cathouse. As if I'll be seen.

She loves deep and fast and often. I love slow and unspectacularly, but in an endless, enduring kind of way.

She has a sister. I feel like they both belong to me.

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