We’d gone back to the apartment in the morning to crash until afternoon – or rather, for you to crash. You had been drinking for most of the previous two days and sensed sloppiness on the horizon.
surveys: flours
What’s your favorite memory which you’re not certain was real?
Who cares for the person you care for most, as much as you do?
Has anyone ever broken your heart without knowing your name?
When did you last look into the mirror and see something beautiful looking back?
Would you see something impossible if you looked behind you right now?
What’s the last dream to make you feel bad in a way you couldn’t understand?
What’s the idea you had? You know the one.
Is there anything you love so much that you never need to think about it?
When you laugh so hard that your eyes close, what color do you see?
- I’ve now found three different notes to myself, going back at least six years, which all say it’s “very telling” that the “one thing” I can put into words or on paper directly involves the “sense of touch.” I know that they’re referring to the emotional temperature.. thing, feeling, whatever the right word for it may ultimately be. I don’t know what it’s supposed to tell, exactly, but I do know how drunk I must have been when writing at least two of those notes and enough liquor makes the details both critically important and incomprehensible.
- These were from a conversation with someone who I just put down at the time as “flours” and “flour girl” and I couldn’t remember her name now if I tried. But I don’t feel like giving her a phony name and the short time we spent in the same room predates most of the other references to “x girl” and “the girl who x”. Most people don’t really care much about their first name, and I don’t think she did either. We didn’t actually talk about it.