found

part of my evening's procrastination was going through my collage/origami supplies and organising them. among the bits of paper i found one with this typed on it:

"icypole summers aren't always pastel.

tongues on sunburn would be an entirely different colour. pink is not adequate.

wanting water. picturing a lake a sea a bathtub. one foot in the water. floating. my body is different in the heat. strange expansions. some days i feel eroded.

melting and burning. the old cliches of fire.
'i don't melt so fast anymore'."

sometimes i wonder about me, and words.