Greetings from Oregon she said to herself, with a painful grudge in her abdomin that lead through her veins directly to her fingertips. She sits naked slouched back against the used office chair. So coordinated she thought Greetings from Oregon. She woke up this morning,with the same scars, under a down blanket above the sheets on a bed that comforted for miles, in a room that glowed orange pine, the window was left open all night, on her own terms; the neighbors infant night after night cried, it was comfort to her emotions while the aluminum red and gold laced box stayed open, and its contents tossed about as if mice skeletons had climbed out of the box and scuried about andthan with a swipe they were all broken apart against the wall, this anxiousness happened frequently,the call for an escape from realit . She laid heavily on the mattress tho as to her, her animation was laying very lightly and near the end of escaping her body, but that feeling, that anxiety that he left inside her, was holding a force as great as gravity, its what held her down in her sleep, the five million pound arm that kept her from drifting away.
He views his surroundings through scratched lenses,they ask him for his memoir now. In tears, affliction and pure sound pain he whispers,"close the blinds, the vents, turn the music up loud and come close to hear my voice." They hold him tight, to feel that same flesh, to view those same hazel eyes, that had moved so loving without strings attached. And he looks at them and says,"wheres your strings? will you pour the dirt on my fire?