понедельник, 8 октября 2007 г.


when the sun came up
we were sleeping in
sunk inside our blankets
sprawled across the bed and
we were dreaming.

i am someone who was made to love. and this great capacity to love is trumped by an exponentionally greater capacity to be hurt, and as i sit at this computer desk on a long monday night i try to reconcile where i am with where i want to be. i search for small bits of myself in crevices, in the corners of my room and my writing and my art and my longing to make a difference in my world. i think of the canyons between the person i am and the person i wish i were; i am much more of a hypocrite than i may seem.

i wonder what it's for. i wonder about the point and purpose to the things i write, to the people i listen to and watch and think about. i am so fascinated, i am so disconnected, i am so disillusioned. 

i am all of these things, and all sorts of nothing and everything and the chasms in between. 

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