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(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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