May 28, 2004
Get out. I don't want you around. I don't want you in my head. You were in my dreams, last night, fucked up as they were. You sat beside me, in this dream, and just stared at me. Stared for the longest time, until I reached up to touch you. Dream me wasn't sure if you were dead or alive, so I reached, with my hand on your forehead, like I was checking for fever. You became you again under my hands, you in Technicolor, you the way I wanted to perceive you. I woke up this morning and cried.