Index - Profile - Archives - Notes - DiaryLand - Random ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Only burners like you get high. You will all be songs running through my head. I will pick through the memories of arms and chests I have known before falling asleep, just lightly trying to imagine you, but settling for the last one that meant anything. I haven't heard good catch in so long, I may start believing I can't field. I don't throw like a girl any more. I'm not afraid of you. And, unfortunately, you're not going to read into all of the warning signs I'll make at you, because I wish you just knew, and came out with it, so they're a secret language I'm making up as I go along. I don't believe in false modesty, though one might think I do. I really can't understand how nearly everyone I admire can think the same of me. Not when I have so much to tell you about the 25 years I haven't written about. But this really is me. The 25 is simply extra stories that I have, and you don't. I never lie. I only say I lie, because it's easier for you to swallow when it's coated with a half truth. When parts of your childhood seem fabricated because you can't remember any bad times, you realize the only thing to do is to keep mind numbing details of your present, keep everything. That is the truth. Everything. . You can't forget how to kiss. You simply breathe and stop thinking. 10:55 p.m. - 2003-07-27 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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