my moon, my man.

mr. spacek pointed to the moon, and said matter-of-factly;
'his face. you can't see the face in the moon?'
'no' she replied...

life moves at such a dizzying pace now,
and i cannot tell my dreams apart from my reality.
wake up, then go to sleep, wake. sleep. sleep. wake.
i'm fascinated by these brilliant people that i work with.
i'm humbled by my friends and fam.
i want to eat everything. i'm so hungry.

...the man sitting next to her on the subway smelled so sweet that it took everything she had not to rest her head on his shoulder...

it's cold. it's cold outside man. it's cold inside man.
mustn't forget to talk to strangers. it's the most important thing.
i met a man who was 96 years old the other day. after stubbornly refusing my hand to help him up the stairs, he giggled and said,
'you know! it's always the ladies who offer!'
i told him he didn't look a day over 80.
i also met an architect, who told me that she's had this reoccurring dream ever since she was a little girl.
she builds the most magnificent sand castle, only to be washed away by the tide.
i can tell it haunts her.
i've got to fix my record player. that'll warm me up.
i try jedi mind tricks on my phone, but still it won't ring.
except a seven am wake up call.
i answer anyways 'hello? hello.'

she went to sleep (or was it that she woke up?)
and when she looked out her window she finally saw it.
the face in the moon!
-s.s.