he was reading a neruda (this will be the saddest one) over my shoulder, and it was cold outside and my toes were just starting to feel warm, and he was asking me how i understood t.s. eliot and the wasteland, and i explained how i see poems, each word spiralling and making me think of where i've seen it or what it means to me and then i get a whole spinoff of images, that's how each word is for me, and how i called one of mine "you can write anything when all you see is words" and i said, see, even this is already writing itself out in my head.

just one of those moments.

last night i saw ani difranco live in concert and all my dreams came true. dancing and powerful guitar chords and seeing words i have listened to for so long come out of a tiny mouth, laughing. feeling so good when the songs i know so well start to play. the things that have happened while listening to ani. story of my life.


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