7 February '98
~ daylight licked me into shape / i must've been asleep for days / moving lips to breathe her name / i opened up my eyes . . . ~ what is this now? the longest letter to a death bed, a way to pass the time so my hair will dry? conforming to all their wishes and do's? somewhere along the line i made one promise. and that was to stop. stop everything. i don't mean, stop life. because then death starts. and my plan would fail. and now that i look at it.. i don't know what i meant. i thought i could grow cold. grow strong in my weakness. or i thought i could stop growing. and i know somewhere.. loving. there are pictures missing between the pins on my board. but i see what's not there. and i ask myself if i've felt like this before. nothing comes. "nothing goes." everything went. and i'm in love. but i'm okay. i don't even feel like searching for a reason not to be. i have a cold and an injured knee. and a million due appolgies. or maybe just one. but i see. and that's it. i'm not blinded by my vision. i have none. so i see. everything and nothing at once. like an end, almost. or a beginning. like a revelation or a suicide note. i'd love for you to hate me. because hate - you can hold on to. but love comes and goes. like good days. like helicopter rides. with glass bottoms. hate stays, always, underneath your skin. in between your teeth. and the breath of your most loved ones. when they refuse to speak. but mumble softly and solely for the wind to hear. there's nothing to love or hate about me. my every attempt to fall in one extreme has brought me to that middle ground. i'll call neutrality. and no one can answer any question of "why?" "why do you..?" or maybe i just don't like the answers i get. and i'm supposed to answer it for myself?
and so i wonder.. why i continue more pages. when i know the only people who would read this - know me. and are maybe searching for any juicy bit of info. they can find. about them? about anyone. but then.. anyone who knows me should know that i would never do that. i keep my thoughts to myself. and myself? to my thoughts. usually. but i'm not really like that, am i? maybe. maybe it's all about reading between the lines. it's all about you. it's all about the way she says, "i love you." and the way you close your eyes. and what you dream of. sleeping wrapped around me.
can't think. think. i say. think. look at all the trash thrown around my room. look at all the lizards crawling away. and the eyes thinking on their own. reading my thougths on paper. look at the scribble of whatever you call writing. and the blue ink. the way i capitalize lovers. not liars. and how i run away. even from myself on paper. the ink running a different direction. my breath pushing it on. i have nothing to say. but so much to write. and i have no more worries. but so many tears to cry. i can do this. i can do this. i can love you from afar. but i'll never stop wishing to hold you. and i will. i will hold you again. as my thoughts trail into what i do best. and what i do only. it's all in the way.. which/what way?