it made me miss my new york nothing

sometime in the past two weeks i snapped back to life and thank god because the what-does-it-all-mean-and-what's-the-point-of-it-all was getting a bit old and quite frankly, even too cliche for me. it's spring in new york. or late summer, and it feels like i'm getting to know everyone all over again like you do every early september. or maybe it's just stage two. i want to write a happy novemember ninth (eighth? seventh?) birthday letter explaining it all, everything, the silence and the neglect and the cold heart, because honesty would be the only and best present i could send, but it hasn't happened. i haven't had time? it seems like such a fantasy now. everything keeps going even if you decide you don't want to grow another day older. they're going to prague and oxford and becoming real people at foreign affairs and i like how real it is. are you really wearing makeup? i'm never going to stop wishing i could still write in my livejournal because THIS IS WHAT I THINK LIKE. sorry. graceful and funny. not fair.

"this is a great wall."