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2002-04-25 @ 10:54 p.m. Perhaps this has nothing to do with anything other than something much more complicated than even I, the queen of complications, could make it. Or, Perhaps this has so much to do with everything written within the last year, that you’ll never even know what I have done in order to do this to myself. Occasionally, The stars will say something so simply beautiful, it breaks me. Me and my sensitive shell shatter and then are left with little to say other than that there was nothing left for neither me or my shell to say. I confess to a coffee cup that my world, the way I’ve made it, is ending. That driving alone in no way compares to driving with you. That my head is sore from refusing tears and trying not to think of this in that one way that hurts. (Think of this as self-preservation, think of this as a way to assert that you deserve better than this and that you aren’t going to compare and contrast yourself with anyone any more, think of this as horrifying, think of this as neither right or wrong, but don’t think of this as an end) Older Entries |
