Index - Profile - Archives - Notes - DiaryLand - Random



These conversations run through my head, playing tag. Feels like I�ve got a vice, and the pressure is killing me. All of these things to say, to tell you. Some to you, and others to you. I can�t keep track, there�s no one to tell. I�m running out of room, so I put things here, to get them out, they have to come out. All of it.

I�ve wrapped the presents, but there are no name tags on them, I�ve mixed them up, I don�t know what goes to what, and where I�m to send it.

My typing isn�t fast enough, I�m straining my eyes, my wrists want to go to bed, take a bath, do other things. I could short circuit at anytime.

I can�t remember. It was something important, that slipped away. Something I felt I had to tell you in that second, I needed to tell you. Maybe I was in the shower, I would have called your name, in hopes of your answer. Maybe it was when I opened the front door, and the only sound was my cough echoing on the hard wood floor. Maybe it was when I was sitting here, trying to remember with these words ringing in my head.

It�s not. The words. It�s the way they are drawn.

7:41 p.m. - 2002-12-30


previous - next