8:32 p.m. - 2005-03-29
We're cutting the strings.
I can hear the ocean if I lie down and stay still and close my eyes.
I can see seashells if I look around my room.
I want to tie you to the shore so you'll always be as constant as the waves. I can time your arrival by my heartbeat and predict you're breathing with the turning of the pages in the very first book that was ever printed.
It matters little that the pages are old. It smells like spices and monastery paint.
Your smile is getting lost along the lashes and until you're watching the floor for the first glance at my sneakers, I don't want to see it. Call my jest? Amazing how the most rounded of objects may have corners. I'll be watching from mine. Spin me smiles like spider webs. I'll hold no grudge.
I want fairy tales. I want imagination. I want the movies. I want the story books. Lies, truth, and the in between.
Augh. Let's just get over this. I'm ready. You are too.
I've got pictures to prove I was there
but you don't care
