sha sha, sha do
11:20 p.m. & 2007-02-03

(j) his room, his house, is nice. blue plaid blanket & a comfy pillow on the bed, i could sleep forever on. pennies are laid out on his desk, & i find three from 1990. it makes me smile. in the garbage can is a paper where he has written

and "oh lord, i think she's dying" i heard somebody say
i think she's dying
and oh lord, i think she's dying
or maybe she's already dead & maybe she's gone to mars

he keeps us warm with his arms around us, whether we be out in the wind, or if it's just us in the backseat. he's convinced i'm such a good person, how i'm not so sure. we listen to the beach boys because it makes me happy as we're on the ride home. we trade off stories from our younger years - when he almost drowned & when i was afraid of the moon.

we lean on each other during car rides - i finally got his shoulder. comfortable.

i'm not afraid to sing in front of him.

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(b) i don't want to talk about this. is it possible for me to refuse? to keep dragging this out?

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i'm afraid i'm doing it again - something i recently noticed. i get so very close, & then slowly, so very slowly, i begin to push away. as though i'm tired of the people around me. just one little push at a time. but all those pushes, you'll eventually fall off the cliff.

you're already missed