You're My Home

when you look into my eyes
and you see the crazy gypsy in my soul
it always comes as a surprise
when i feel my withered roots begin to grow


-billy joel



[a blue sound]



a story:

this one's about a little girl, four, maybe five years old. her tight-clad legs tremble on tippy toes, rocking the wooden stool precariously back and forth. she peers deeply into the bathroom mirror, squinting with all her strength. eyes closed, crinkling her petite face in earnest concentration. her every breath is still, the air around her motionless in anticipation.
knock, knock.
uh oh.
a slightly mis-used bathroom stool rocks rapidly back to four resting legs on the tiled floor. the little girl looks despondently upward into the concerned eyes of her mother. two tears trickle out of the corner of each eye, carving salty trails down the slope of her pink-tinged face.
"mommy, i tried and i tried, but i just couldn't do it. my magic didn't work. i couldn't make my eyes blue."



maybe one of these days it'll finally happen.
i'm not holding my breath anymore.