so im not unhappy, no i'm not discontented or sad really. but it has something to do with the gypsy woman on the bus with the long greying hair and the wrinkly green eyes who placed her hand on my abdomen and just watched me. not knowing what to do, no i didn't know what to do, i got off the bus right then and wandered, tears streaming from my
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its a very honest entry... but i dont really understand why or how... lara, too much time has passed.
im afraid i dont know whats going on with you, at all, anymore.
so im going to have to come up in april to SF
you better be there.
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Quite frankly, and above anything, I'd prefer to be driving NORRRRTH with you under the waning moon to God knows where, not just when there's time but any day of the fucking week. I dream of leaving one night and ending up in your woods, so that we can lay down in the park mud and blow some good smoke.
Lack of sadness doesn't hide your desperation. It's creeping into my bones, too, and I can't hide it.
I miss you, baby, and you know I love you.
Soon.
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