Away into the sunset I painted, number by number.
Dreaming of a day that knocks all others off the books.
Sitting in another’s shoes I see my weakness more than before. Each day I sleep in the sound his embrace used to make and each day I kiss the memory goodbye but I can’t seem to make my lips take the boy.
Today there is no sun, only my fog which blankets the ground like a body blanketing my soul.
Gloomy lately, feeling so unbalanced. Change seems to be my most valuable escape from the uncomfortable feeling that the silence brings.
-B
Historical Prose: 9/16/2001
