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The way we deny.

It's not the sex.

It's the undivided attention and spans of time, not running out, or cut short.

I'm tired. But, I don't want to sleep. As though if I stay up long enough, a break through would occur, letting in all the light, and burning out the dark.

I will write until all the words are used up, and there's nothing left but the silence. No buzzing, or meowing, no passing cars, flashing lights, prostitutes hanging onto cars.

"Hey, baby. How are you?"

"Fine. Thank you."

Letters sit in a hamper of my clean clothes. Shorts, tank tops lay on the floor. Bills piled up on my monitor.

"What are you doing with your money, Carie?"

"I'm buying clothes." Trying to reinvent myself, this transformation, always the phoenix, always struggling.

I know that you love me. It's always better to keep it to yourself.

I'd just like to hear it.

11:52 p.m. - 2003-06-28

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