my stepfather from seven - early twenties died.
died, dead, died.

Something about this view just kills me. I've been looking into the same windows for months and months and this sketch is the last thing I see when I close my eyes a lot of times. There's something so lonely and sterile about right now and if I dig my nails in just a little too hard, I need you to understand why.

this weekend is to my spirit
what sensory deprivation is to sex.

I can't sleep. I'm frustrated. I pull my jeans on, I close the door quietly, I summon the elevator. Oh. There's nowhere to go. My old tricks won't do. Five minutes. Ten minutes. Pacing. My cage is a luxury high rise. I glance back at the door. I open it quietly. I pull my jeans off. I will eventually sleep. I'm frustrated. It's Friday night. ( Read more... )

ever know a couple explaining their story or progression and get one of these:
"well, ____'s lease was up. he or she was here everyday, anyway. it was just the logical thing to do."

oof.

there is nary a sweeter sight than a boy cooking very poorly for you after a trying day.

clean house, cool air, packed lunch; a string of little things that leave me feeling okay in their wake.

as for the big picture, well, it starts now. i'm making things real by speaking of them over the telephone. i'm half an hour closer to beginning the rest of my life, et all.

it's been four hundred and ninety three days.

i don't have the energy to wax poetic about any of it.

tired of dreaming of you with various smug looks on your face and too-short haircuts.