my life is not her life, walking toward the car with a baby in her stomach, sated from dinner and good company. worrying about if her job will end but confident that she has survived, she will survive and happy that she has everything else under control. no, my life is walking down a gray twiling street in North Hollywood
my life is not his life, wearing only a wife beater because he had no plans to go out till she practically forced him out the door, grumbling as he walks the dog but thankful that it affords him a snuck cigarette and the ability to stare at my ass as I walk by in jeans one size too tight. my life is walking down a gray twilight street in North Hollywood
my life is not theirs, watching American Idol on the DVR, giggling, pausing to give their opinions before the judges chime in - comparing the cute one to the boy she's interested in who she thinks just might secretly like her back if only he'd see past that huge zit and understand how much she has to offer a guy like that. and my life is still walking down a gray twilight street in North Hollywood
my life is not theirs, thank heavens, glass shattering, crying, man yelling in Spanish, hearts breaking, dogs barking, neighbors banging on the wall threatening to call the cops. my life is walking down a gray twilight street in North Hollywood
my life is not his, in an empty theater, smell of freshly cut wood, wondering why they need this castle by Friday when the show doesn't go up until Sunday, wishing he could be home getting high and listening to music.
my life is walking down a gray twilight street in North Hollywood, turning a corner seeing the warm lights of my house awaiting me. my life is good.