is covered over with fog and silence, besides t moving in the kitchen, cleaning, and cars passing in front of our house. j came over this morning, brought a bag of things i had left at his little apartment, i dreamt last nite about how i hated the decor there. hmm. seeing him was confusing; i felt far away and sad and a little bitter. i'm sure he could sense the last. i was doing my best, though...
what do you do when they bring over all your shit in a bag? smile? thank them? i did all that.
he's a nice boy. i'm glad we're not romantic anymore... and sad too. oh well. t says to stop digging myself a hole. that's no fun.
ectomorphing endomorphs burn paper for warmth in asylum beds while wondering where their mothers are no one to help you now the white walls scream not like there ever was
2.08.2005
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