Ecriture feminine (Overheard: No more club angels for you. We'll show you how damaged we really are.) La Sola is a libertine.
Ah - I get off on catching you off guard. Your limp body on the couch, your mouth wide eyed caught in freezeframe, I hit unpause on the movie, I am here, you are a vibrational. Your mind trembles like a heartbeat. You come and play some game with us, one round, and go and hide in the room again. Everyone likes you. You take a friend's husband on your fishing trip and I am at once with you on the metamorphosing piers, the two of you sidebyside each other like an intention, and I am at once away blowing your phone up with crying of my yearning self. Everyone says you're odd and I do too and it hurts and it's on purpose. I am sending a letter on the other side of the war talking to you on the paper as I always do and the mail slot swings open with a unpretensive glow. Ah - and we fight about the r__l w_rld we fight because i cut we don't talk about children the things you love I passably smile about i reach for stars you can't even see and i cry because I grew up in myopia and it's a barren attempt but I try to stem it with your body anyway because i cant, silently- in silence. And then I sit upright With the silly ideas crowding my head you lie that you understand, and so I tolerate it all.