i am so sick of consequence and the look on your face
2004-03-09 & 2:21 a.m.

tonight there was pita bread and cumin and cinnamon yogurt, there, where we were sitting, with the red and yellow woven tapestries, with the cushioned seats, with the stories woven by candlelight. we all knew the words to each song on the way back home. and we all knew the words we left out of conversation, but that was to maintain the remnants of our sanity, most of which have dwindled regardless. i never gave his letters a second thought until now, you know. they were dismissed into a corner, and i never believed in an unearthing process. i still don't believe his scrawled words, because he never knew me, although he tried to the point of losing himself. if you want to re-hash the past, let us begin on a tree limb, so at least i can swing before falling. and even if all the words were forced, even if they were traded with uneven odds, you know, i still miss him.

but today, today. smoky rooms and cards until hours are meaningless and we have all burned our eye color into each other. bookstores playing ani and dancing with scarves. and now, the sky and a book.