start with an apology and work from there.
Saint Louise Was Listening On
3:41 a.m. || 2005-03-13
preface with this: i am so sorry to be offensive in what i am about to write.
i was reading tonight, 300 pages in, and the year was 1999, the season early fall on the eastern seaboard.
i thought of the first time we really kissed during hurricane floyd, and i held my stomach as i wept inconsolably for the next couple of hours.
what is happening here between my heart and my head? did i tell you i've been dreaming about you? i can't understand this after all this time? i can't even leave any lines for you to read between, everything is here, there is nothing to misinterpret. i think about our conversations as of late and my heart smiles.
why can't my outsides smile too?
i thought about od'ing on sleeping pills tonight, and i know that everyone out there is mildly shocked about my lack of hyperbole and imagery here, and i know it, but i mean it's bland because it's so true
sayin'?
i mean i really though about it, but i took two and i'm waiting to go to sleep. nothing sensational, nothing worthy of making it into my diary.
are you still here?
god i'm sorry.