Friday. Dec 11th.
hmm, fridays… oh she knows plenty of people that aren’t home. that are out, having fun. or simply out. even her brother and her dad… well, they’re maybe not having fun, but they’re still not with her. she’s alone okay? she’s wearing a XL Jimi Hendrix tee-shirt. and John Lennon’s round glasses. and she’s singing… She was just seventeen and you know what i mean ♫ and no she’s not crazy. it’s just friday. friday does that. she’s not studying, because she’s totally against saturday school and will never stop saying it and doing stuff to prove that this shit is unnecessary. (let’s be serious,… No one remembers stuff they learned at school on saturday. everybody’s like checking their watch because they can’t wait for class to be done so that they can go HOME. my brain is Saturday.School.Knowledge-Proof. ) blah. bread and mustard is something delicious, especially on fridays. she finally realizes she spent all those years thinking it was « jimmy hendrix »… on fridays, she paints herself with laziness and lives life in slow motion. on fridays, she listens to the beatles. out loud. and she twists like those girls from the 80’s… and she sings… She looked at me and i ♫ … i could see ♫. and she thinks about you. asks herself three hundred thousand million questions about you… are you home? sick? tired? pissed? bored? hungry? are you out? drunk? still bored? high?… but since she can’t answer and that there’s no way for her to know, she gives up and put the music louder and starts to dance again. and sings… And we danced through the night ♫ and we held each other tight ♫ who cares? no one’s here to watch her…on fridays, she thinks about life. and realizes loneliness and boredom are the only two things that will never let you down. And my heart went boom ♫, when i crossed that room ♫ and i held her hand in mine ♫…on fridays, she writes. she types for the fun of it. she smiles. because it’s cool… cool to type stuff and to delete ’em after. no one will ever know. ever. she could write what she feels for you… all the stuff she can’t tell you. and then hit « delete » and everything would suddenly disappear, all these pretty… girly… corny… words, well, they would just fly to wherever. imagine for a second, that every thing we deleted went somewhere specific. along with stuff we forget, desires we lost, stuff that disappointed us, people that weren’t important enough for us to remember them… uh? but whatever,… she’s singing … How could i dance with another? ♫ when i saw her standing there ♫ and it’s incredible how she doesn’t care when there’s no one around. how she dances, yells, jumps… on fridays, she’s crazy. but isn’t she always? oh fridays… lipstick stays on the bread when she bites it… the same way lipstick would stay on your cheek if she kissed you. but whatever.