The Pale Girl
in tight clothes
looks down at
the Nothing.
The brown hair masks
emotions below it.
I cannot see
what she's thinking.
Sensing my stare,
she suddenly looks up
and smiles at me, revealing
Blue eyes behind glasses.
An instant,
it's gone.
Shyness returns.
She looks
down.
17.3.10
A Tad About This Post
Alright, well, seeing as this is the first post, I guess I should discuss myself here.
First off, my name is Zoe Macintosh.
Second, I hate talking about myself.
Third, I won't talk about myself.
So enough about me; let's talk about you.
Yes, I know I don't know you. Of course not.
What I mean is, I don't really think of you. You're just the audience. An actor cannot see his audience and neither can I. So I don't really care about you. I hardly expect anyone to read this anyways. It's just a diary that will maybe get a readership and maybe get me fame and fortune, but I doubt it. I don't wish for it. It'd just be nice to see it happen.
Con amor,
Zoe M.
First off, my name is Zoe Macintosh.
Second, I hate talking about myself.
Third, I won't talk about myself.
So enough about me; let's talk about you.
Yes, I know I don't know you. Of course not.
What I mean is, I don't really think of you. You're just the audience. An actor cannot see his audience and neither can I. So I don't really care about you. I hardly expect anyone to read this anyways. It's just a diary that will maybe get a readership and maybe get me fame and fortune, but I doubt it. I don't wish for it. It'd just be nice to see it happen.
Con amor,
Zoe M.
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