absolution i didn't let him read

Listens: my rough draft

wanting a kitchen set. all done.

you said

resurrect me
in a church

a place of very fine things
cutlery and porches

/

oh, hello

"where are you going?"

/

john says, "i don't think you're one to ever be in a successful marriage." he goes on to say i don't seem like the person able to completely dissolve into "that union bit" of it. it's strange that that hurt my feelings, because i always secretly think that too, and sometimes secretly dread it as an unbearable truth. but then i wanted to say, "i'm also only eighteen." but i don't know. he says i wouldn't be able to live in the same room with anyone, "and i can't believe you're still holding out on the hope that you'd flourish trapped with only one person. you know you're not going to stay locked from everyone else; it's not your nature." since when did he discover all things concerning my nature? he's so arrogant. i shouldn't listen to boys when they try to tell my who i must be (like). sometimes, i don't want to get it.

later and abruptly:

john: i think you're still secretly hoping there are parts to me that are clean, that aren't.
me: well i think you want to think there are parts of me that are dirty that aren't. so.

tell me i don't care, enough to be angry at all.

philip roth thinks marriage is an absolute puzzlement, sort of a confounditall situation.

stuck.

/

but sometimes, it's almost like. it almost feels like the next best thing, the next step to holiness. like being made love to.

serious and scary.