cccv. living dead

my job is to write. yours is to read carefully and contemplate, letting your imagination reconstruct the narrative, pausing on hot spots like hands over a ouija board.
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i could tell you were taking away the key when we hit our first false note. don't talk about music if you don't want the whole piano.
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laying there, feeling you breathe into me, was all it took to make me want to learn about forever.
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i love the rains and i love summer and all the things you do between the sheets and the naked commute. come in and weather beside me and we'll let the poor seasons be.
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there is no poetry here. only words, just words.
- 24,607 voyages
thank you for pushing my final buttons. everyone else had sticky fingers.

April 26, 2006

this is a story about coming down hard, and expecting too much, talking too much, and having too much faith. being too willing to give it all away.

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