i sneaked a look at his feet yesterday. they're beautiful. perhaps the second most beautiful feet in the world. his toes are short and broad, toe nails cut to perfection. it's not what you'd expect, looking at the rest of him. they're a very comforting structure, the kind you'd want to look at when you're tired and stressed out. they were slightly dirty, just enough to give a dusky colour to his feet, and a rough texture to his nails. he had his big toe wrung on to the second one when i looked, and my heart did a little flutter.
i want toes like those!
they say i mustn't write about the things i don't know.
so i won't write about why the man on the road never fails to walk by at 9.30 sharp. so i won't write about why the ice cream melts, even when its cold.
i won't write about the stars. i'll pretend they're candy hung in the sky, wrapped in shiny paper like a reward for those who come first in class.
i won't write about colour. i'll pretend africans are being discriminated against because they dance funny.
oh, and i definitely won't write about religion. i'll pretend people are a funky bunch who choose to think they're in the world for pretending to do the same thing differently.
i won't tell a love story, because nobody understands love anyway. i can't tell a hate story, because i have never known passionate hatred.
i won't talk about poverty, because i'm wearing jeans worth 1,500 bucks, a t-shirt worth 500 bucks, listening to music on a stereo worth about 20,000 bucks, typing this into a laptop, whose cost i am not about to imagine.
i won't talk about sex, the closest i got to it was "female" on all the forms i filled.
i won't talk about me, because i don't know half a thing about me, and nobody else knows either, so i can't be helped.
what ever is left to write about, i won't, because i know everything there is to know about it, and writing won't help.