but this pain that you put me through, it isn't love now
Tuesday, July 5th, 2011 10:23 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
erikaI don't understand how it's gotten to be the 5th and I haven't written a real journal entry.
Well, yes, I do. Summer does this to me. Depression does this to me—robs me of my words, of any articulate phrasing I could lay claim to, any Jenga puzzle of words I could pull out a block from—does anyone even play board games anymore, when there's Sims and WoW and Civ and Fallout and Mass Effect and Bioshock?
I don't think we even own any.
The wound on my breast continues to heal. That's not a metaphor, although it'd be a good one.
Well, yes, I do. Summer does this to me. Depression does this to me—robs me of my words, of any articulate phrasing I could lay claim to, any Jenga puzzle of words I could pull out a block from—does anyone even play board games anymore, when there's Sims and WoW and Civ and Fallout and Mass Effect and Bioshock?
I don't think we even own any.
The wound on my breast continues to heal. That's not a metaphor, although it'd be a good one.
