Sunday, August 12, 2007


I'm leaving again, unwillingly. I've been leaving for the past eight years and it wears me out, harrasses me with dread, tires me with prolonged anxiety, makes my last week here a mere descent into future misery - the absurd pursuit of a college degree I'm not going to use, the deviation from passion, the delay from happiness, etc.

I suppose I'm horribly immature. I'm lots of things without meaning to.

Sunday, August 5, 2007


I found him tiresome, but the moment he left I wanted him once more. It's not indecision that plagues me, but an irreconciliation between reality and ideas.

The road was winding. Not a sound except barking dogs and dead leaves being crushed beneath our feet. There was no hurry. Not that I cherished him so dearly. I didn't mind his company. At certain moments it got a little weary, but no more weary than boredom is. For the most part he was just there . We were together out of my indifference and his willingness, but when I was alone once more his absence disquieted me. What was previously insignificant to me emerged as lost familiarity.