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Monday, August 20, 2007

My life in the gingerbread house.

What we have is commercial. What we have is box and sell. It's lovely and marketable and safe. We wrote the music, but someone else is singing our song. We're pretending.

We are boys and girls dressing up for our first school play, with mom and dad whispering the script to us from behind a red velvet curtain backstage. And I am standing on stage, blinded by the spotlight, wordless and waiting for my next line.

I see the antithesis of us in cherubic actor faces on the big screen and in the wistful lines of really good novels. I live that life out in my daydreams when you see me for the first time in a real way. And for almost a decade I have constantly nipped at the heels of something that may not even exist. For me. With you.

We are lying on the floor of my kitchen and all around us the cabinets are overflowing with cookie cutters and we are buried in the heap.

7 comments:

Peter DeWolf said...

Very nicely done.

And sad.

Todd said...

That was way too deep for me.

Hellafied said...

Peter: Thanks, and yes.

Todd: That's what she said.

dmbmeg said...

ha! well played gatesy!

The Stormin Mormon said...

I feel woefully shallow.

And that in no way bothers me.

:-)

country roads said...

love it.

Mortarbored said...

This too shall pass.