Words are garbling around in my head cavity, but there are too many. Hard to make out what they're saying. Something about being born in Mexico, some place more exotic then here.. And another voice about learning. Learning, when I stop I'll pack my bags. Can't make out.......
Making out. I saw some people kiss on tv.
Rosie keeps telling me boys are bugging her.
I feel like I cannot let anybody know all the delicate old things my innards know. Like if these things were to escape they would rampage unknown. Treasures in black cloaks and buttons. Reeling.
At least I can write letters to you about it.
If you would like me to write you letters just send me a google map of your address like Ingrid here...
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