16 September 2007

in the jukebox of her memory

the list of names flips by and stops
she closes her eyes
and smiles as the record drops
--jukebox, ani difranco







there are pictures, some are pretty, some are pink, some are fuzzy. she looked at them, and realized pictures of the park help her flip through the jukebox of her memory and stop to think of being in all those parks in the years past.



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her heart lies heavy as she picks one 45, it drops, the needle makes the requisite connection and the music pop, pop, pops to life. she's in a park and staring into the huge brown watery eyes of her beloved. beer bottles laid scattered about, and largely ignored, off to the side. she was thinking, thinking, thinking that she could lay in that park, without a blanket, on the dewy crisp grass, with the cold starting to envelope them as the sun set somewhere off the pacific, staring into those emotive eyes forever. they say nothing to each other, but just stare at each others' face, busily drinking in the features, the lines of their lips, the laugh lines, the frown lines, the hairlines. tons of lines. there is a lot of blinking and a lot of shy smiling. their blinking at each other would be the only tangible communication between them, if an outsider were to observe, as their fledgling love grew exponentially that day through their eyes.

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the song abruptly stops, the needle lifts, and she is rapidly whisked back to the present, and then she pushes "send."

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