paragraphs of coffeehouses.
Tuesday, Feb. 18, 2003
we have always been stolen.lost and pushed.
a feeling of apprehension and guilt washing and tides over what you said yesterday, building this bridge over blood and foundations already there. do you really know what you're getting into? but you make me feel like i'm doing more than time and that's all it takes.
nothing has been more important to me in the past two days than the words, "i don't know."
it's never coming out right, and i'm standing right in the middle of my day screaming for quiet. just a moment. fragments, so that i can think and try to recognize what this is and attempt and feel and maybe close my eyes on that last moment of you.
tell me what i want to do ... so that i don't have to try anymore.
