.::curator::. You didnt need to know their names. Or where they lived. Or what they did on Sunday nights. You only needed to see them as he saw them from the 3rd storey apartment window. You only needed a glimpse of a face, a wave of a hand, or a sudden footfall, before the wavering chords of some distant emotion would drift upwards, like a heady cologne, to be bottled and perused at his leisure; to be woven into a greater tale, or set forth in all its mundane splendor. And mundane he chose, wiggling his fingers over the little figures of people beneath his window. Ah, my vignette, I adore you, he murmured, and withdrew to his glass of wine and pen.
.::no love nor patience::. She moves about her room in a frenzy, barely touching a stack on papers on her desk before whirling away to the heap of clothes, spilling off the dresser. Her mind swims, trying to keep all fifty-three things in line at once, like a row of rowdy children. Her eyes are red-rimmed, and there are tear stains through the light powder on her checks. Her movements are jerky and she seems disturbed over something. Something with no remedy. The room is in the second story of a boarding house. It is mostly barren; a wooden floor, now grey with age and use that murmurs or groans a little under her every step. The walls are daubed and dingy with thick wooden beams criss-crossing the walls and ceiling. A small thin bed is pushed against one wall. It is plain, save for the blue and white quilt and black, wrought iron headboard. Across from that, there is a small, hastily crafted desk and dresser. The gir
are my wordsare my words to live on,to be spoken on the street?would they endure in the form of a song?(in a simple poets beat?)will my words echo outall to be taken seriously -or cast the shadow of a doubt?(can they disappear mysteriously?)are my words to live on,to be clearly understood?will they cause one to rudely yawn?(if I wanted them to, they could.)will teachers criticizelike carrion birds?will bored class-mates despise?(could someone protect these words?)will they sit and starewith incomprehension?or will they just shout and glare?(I wait with apprehension.)are my words to live on,to be hummed in every yard?where has my legacy gone?(I did try so very hard...)