4:19 a.m. - 2001-06-13
I don't know if it's the way you look, or the way you look at me.
I don't know if it's the way you talk or what you say.
I don't know if its your eyes, or the shimmer I see when something sparks your imagination.
Is it the way you carry yourself, or the way you don't try to carry yourself any paticular way.
Whatever it is that I missed.
I missed you today more than ever.
Then I wonder if I was missed.
Or even thought of.
More than likely not.
Which is the way it normally is with me.
Maybe I need a hobby..
I breathe deeply and step once more into the lonely darkness that are my thoughts, once again carry the torch to my slumber, to cry myself to sleep.
Damp pillowcases are the sign of love.