Know that I think of you often.

[imbruglia]

He calls me his hope. The brightest star in his sky, hanging delicately from the canopy I'm suspended in. His zenith. Something suddenly tangible and able to touch. Not in the literal sense, at least not now. I don't count the distance in miles as much as I count it in hours of longing, and minutes apart from each phone call. In every other way, he

Comments

[valo]

You speak such cruel truth; couldn't you at least wrap them in ugly words?

[imbruglia]

Perhaps it rings as cruel, but perhaps time has taught me to accept the cruel circumstances for what they are. There's something mildly beautiful about it as well. It's odd explaining a feeling you have. I can never do it justice.

Words are faceless and nameless until you mold them as you will. Perhaps I need to intigrate a plainer language to my entries. I fear my doing otherwise tends to put people off a bit.

[valo]

It's the future Hell that you fear, when the present is Heaven. Maybe it's just my very own personal original sin fostered by past experience that makes me anxiously await everybody's shattering. I like your words, I just fear your wrath.