Instead, I am a heavy hollow, all of my insides alarmingly dry, yet I could drain a tear or two. Dare me. I would do it. I realize that this is the furthest I will ever be from his return. I'm still laughing at last night's jokes, still looking into the memory of his eyes. Every lucid bit of recollection hangs vibrant and vividly in the boughs before it succumbs to the dilution process, one atom at a time. I hate that, and I hate that I haven't heard from him yet, to know that he's there [safe].
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
I've been waiting for this si-lence all. night. long.
Against the better choice: to accept the emotional state of right now as the mere result of sleep deprivation and one of the less flattering aspects of femininity - I sit, fingers resting on tired keys, poised and ready to release whatever it is that is contained.