(away) i wish it could have been me. but i don't illicit poetry. just feeble, late night conversations that end in frustration. everything i say or mean or feel gets distorted by my total inablity to communicate. he used to call this something... but i can't remember what. it's slipped my mind, gone the same way as his being able to relate. 3:54 p.m. - 2003-10-12 |
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