[3:28 a.m.] : [2005-02-27]
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i was perusing an old journal of sorts from high school and the following summer. a couple of things hit me, the first being how little i have written in the last few years. with the exeption of the summer i was working nights in fairfield i have written practically nothing. yes i know i've put a lot of words down in this diary, but i think that my bleeding in this narrative manner has left me next to nothing for a more diverse out pouring of emotions (maybe i'm just more well adjusted). i will be the first to roll my eyes at everyone who writes poetry, everyone is a poet no matter how bad they are. even so, the stream of hack poetry seems to have been damned up to make room for this resevoir of a diary. of course it is not all diarylands fault. no one made me start writting here. no one makes me continue to write here. and very few would notice or care if i stopped. still, i don't know if i have the old stuff in me any more. i think i am too cynical to let myself go back to lyricism and that just makes me feel more jaded and indiffernt about all this. the other thing i noticed thumbing threw the old book was how much i wish i could find someone new to fall for like i used to fall for girls. i really want some new distraction to sweep me up unsuspectingly with a pretty smile and a casual hello. i want long nights on the phone and a soft hand to hold at movies and i want to cry when she rips my heart out. that last part is important to remember because it will let me know if i still have a heart. that is making me think of a good life song and i think i will end with it. i woke up this morning to the silence of falling snow. these graces of beauty have left me so cold.
i once had a heart, but hearts are like snowflakes. one warm touch and they melt away.
this winter is waxing |
