Or the account of my decline into barbarism (and all of the lovely, mad people who helped me do it).

Monday, February 1, 2010


Today, my boyfriend shoved Revolver into my hand and told me to listen. I grabbed it and said, "I guess you'll have to read Paradise Lost." I see it this way: a rock album for the boy who scans music shelves and kisses me on the jaw; an Edenic tragedy for the girl who shuffles on campus sidewalks and clutches literature to her cleavage.

We talked past midnight. Our heads were flat against the bed and parallel to the chalky ridges on the ceiling. He told me of a broken heart in springtime. I smiled, said, "A year ago...funny how things change."

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