A Black Feather, A poison pen... ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- five hundred and seventy two weeks flashing back to a point in my infinitely foolish history. Yesterday was the day itself, but if we go by weeks and days of the week, today is friday as that day was... it's been years since i've seen her face or heard her voice, nearly a decade now, and she rarely crosses my mind anymore, and no longer triggers a burning ache that weighs on me like a millstone and rips through me like starvation i'm mostly past all that now, i've remade myself in the image i once put away to prove myself to her, which, while not without some perverse degree of pathos is quite an achievement for a scruffy looking weirdo in his mid-thirties time is a road we travel, and even though she and i have long since passed and moved beyond the point where we intersected, i can still see outlines of her in my mind's rearview mirror, though i doubt she ever looks back far enough to still see me Yeah, i don't know why, but here it is, eleven years and one day later and i still catch myself occasionally thinking about Samantha, fondly even, in spite of the fact that she represents the beginning of a period in my life marked by failures and defeats and betrayals. sometimes i am a foolish old man. 1:04 p.m. - 2007-07-13 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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