only the most shallow of thoughts are surfacing and comingling with her consciousness right now.

over the last few weeks the things that may often be categorized as girly, cosmetic, and insubstantial are first and foremost in her daily routine...

clean and polish nails, cut cuticles, soak feet, condition hair, pluck brows, apply moisturizer, handwash unmentionables, iron, curl, floss, tuck, breathe and look upward.

when she enters the apartment, she may be entering some den of a 1950's playgirl- a preoccupation to keep her hidden energies and curiosities from reappearing and causing all sorts of emotional trouble.

she has no clue what she wants or what she is missing and she secretly fears that she is not missing anything but instead is slowly succumbing to the dumbness and numbness of full-fledged adulthood- the kind that sets one's mind in a tomb: unable to relate to the not-so-distant feelings of adolescence and passion and idealism and naivete.

words are selfish and boring and don't help.

the nostalgia button isn't even working anymore, and therefore, she doesn't miss you,

any of you.