Tuesday, January 15, 2008

Zoe Lowe



I saw my friend Zoe today. She (literally) smashed her wrist, and has had to have two bloody surgeries. The last week she's been at home sleeping and crying from the pain. Pain can be totally consuming, and her's seemed to be.

Today I saw her, and we hung out at the mall for a little while. She looked really beautiful, more beautiful really than I remember her being in a while. She's become super-skinny, and her eyes have red rings from either the pain-killers or the crying jags (or both), and she's luminescent. She was wearing a sleeveless puffy dress with a gold shirt underneath and a pair of stretch black pinstripes. Her cast is purple and covered in green writing, like "Scott is Gay" and "Zoe SUX.COM" etc. She had almost no make-up on- a little bit of lipstick, some eyeliner- I think.



She looked so hot, I couldn't even bear it. I was kneeling in front of her in the bloomingdales atrium and there was something so magnetic about her, I just wanted to kiss her. Her legs were tiny, almost impossibly small, and they looked so delicate.

2 comments:

Zoe Lowe said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Zoe Lowe said...

I'm deeply touched, your writing has gotten so smooth over the years. Its almost intimidating to hear someone describing you in such detail, especially someone with an actual emotional attachment to you, not some kind of journalist or reporter who picked you to write about because of some picture they saw somewhere.

In the last year I've clearly undergone some kind of dramatic transformation to everyone around me. Of course, my decision to stop dying my hair and wearing makeup must seem more dramatic to everyone else than me, but it's still wierd looking in the mirror. Part of me feels like I look more like myself than ever before but I'm not a cheeky little girl on a tricycle anymore, and when I see these hallows in my cheeks that were never there before it still feels like I'm looking at a stranger in the mirror.

My therapist once told me this feeling is a byproduct of dissociative disorder, but I think I just woke up a cockroach. It's okay. Just no one throw any apples.