"someone told me i should take caution when it comes to love i did tell them all i know now shout it from the rooftops write it on the skyline all we had is gone now tell them i was happy and my heart is broken all my scars are open tell them what i hoped would be impossible"
i walked into the blockbuster and placed the dvd on the counter. GUY: hey, how are ya? ME: i'm fine. i'm just returning this dvd. GUY: [nods, picks up case] ME: it was due thursday... GUY: [smiles knowingly, opens dvd case to make sure disk is actually inside] ME: ...so I'm guessing there's some consequences with that. GUY: yeah. [snaps case closed, scans barcode] technically it's a dollar a day, but we'll see what we can do for you. [watches computer screen waiting for information to pop up] GUY: [account info appears] oh. [sort of surprised face] thursday. [he obviously wan't listening to what i told him earlier] that's close enough. [clicks something on the computer screen, throws dvd into the 'to-be-sorted' box behind him] ME: wait, so... that's just it? GUY: yeah. [shrugs] basically i just waived it for you. ME: really? thanks! GUY: no problem. have a great night. i did. :)
and at that, my muse stomps her little foot, grinding her black stiletto heel into the hardwood floor. she tosses her hair over her shoulder, pushes her glasses back up the bridge of her nose, picks up her briefcase, and marches out of the room, her nose in the air. on the desk she leaves a mess of unfinished poetry and crumpled-up who-knows-whats, spilling out of the wastepaper basket and onto the floor. no one wants them finished anymore. the door slams as my muse makes her exit out the front door and climbs into her BMW. she's angry. she thinks she's leaving forever. but this has happened before. she'll come back. and while she's gone, my heart beats happily - bumpbump, bumpbump - and my thoughts sing slready-written songs.
i live for the million little pieces of you that are still sitting inside of me. i die, because, well, you're broken, and those million little pieces are slipping away, one piece at a time. i laugh for the thought that someday i can put the fragments back together and maybe even mend my heart at the same time. i cry because i know i never will.
my muse is overworked, i think. she's sitting at her desk, classy black glasses with plastic, rectangular rims falling off her nose, as she sweeps her long, black hair off her face into a touseled bun and leans over the paper in front of her, frantically scribbling away. she bites her tongue, furrowing her brow, matching words with feelings and letters with words. a bead of sweat drips off of her nose and onto the paper, but that's ok, because it adds to the ambiance of the thing she is writing. she is breathing hard, breathing heavy, breathing in the things she writes... and then suddenly, without warning, her face assumes a look of panic, one of pain. the pencil falls from her hand and bounces once on the desk before settling into silence. and my muse begins to cry. her body heaves and shudders with sobs. she has just realized that what she is writing is devastating. the heart she inhabits is breaking, breaking... and she cannot write it down with words.
i finally took my prom nail polish off this morning. it used to be all gold and sparkly, but it was getting kinda tarnished and faded, so i doused a dozen cotton balls in nail polish remover, scrubbed my toes until they were clean, and threw everything away.