| - the start of something every now and again i wake... as if from a slumber... as if ive not been aware of myself for months... i wake and i look around... and i think... "now how did i get here?"... i think "what sort of place is this that i have come to inhabit? surely, at the time i succumbed to this slumber, i would have never come to a place such as this... would have never subjected myself to these pains... would have never thought if it... would have never thought it would ever turn out like this"...
oh but it has turned out like this dear self... it has... and what can we do but live on and wonder what might have been done differently? the latter of which is involuntary but always finds its way creeping into my concious that rarely shows its face...
i miss people... a lot of people...
1. some of my friends.
2. the woman who holds my heart in the palm of her hands (and probably doesnt even know it... sitting, uncomfortably i might add, a good 2000 miles away or so)... i had the absurd thought the other day that i would love to settle down with her someday... as if shed have me... oh who knows...
3. myself the innocent... because i was once... i remember it vaguely... vaguely just like everything else...
and in any case... innocence is my fondest most longed for memory... go figure.
nobody uses xanga anymore... nobody reads this... but writing it is all that matters ive come to realize... much of what i write... no one will ever read... but getting it outside of myself... that is the key. just write... just right... just... write... just, right? just write. | 
