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Stop and think for a second.

Someone asked you what you needed, this someone who could probably do that for you. This is someone you trust, on instinct.

And they have asked you what you need, as you type this on an ancient computer with the awful keyboard, and broken mouse, with a stack of bills on the dining room table, and packages that need to be mailed, things that need to be packed.

I fought for a minute. I thought I couldn�t come up with a single thing that I needed.

My answer: I just need someone to hold me for a really long time.

I shouldn�t be here. I should be in my car, fighting to stay awake, so close to your house by now. If I had left at 3, I would be about 3 hours away now. I could be helping myself to get what I need, and I can�t make the effort. There are far too many excuses keeping me from running away to see what it is.

The beauty lies in the fact that it�s on the same album as what I really wanted to use.

The gravity of what I�ve just lost, or what I haven�t ever really had, is slowly hitting me. Christ, my imagination is just so much more powerful than anything I have in my life right now.

It�s coming out of my eyes. It�s spilling onto my legs. It�s running down my face, and I just can�t get it to come out of my fingers to be able to explain to you everything that has happened to me.

I think about how I would answer questions differently, maybe the way I could have answered them if I had your grace. I�m crying not so much for me, mostly for me, some for you. Though I�ll never know for certain this is what you meant. I would bet everything I own on the feeling of you detaching. Right now, I can feel it.

My answer: I just need someone to hold me for a really long time.

If you could give me that, I�d stop holding back.

. . .

I�m never going to be able to do this feeling justice here.

Good Night.

1:45 a.m. - 2003-01-04


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