When I am near you, I see what you love so clearly. No one else knows that you are repeating yourself, in your own kitchen.
Somehow, I don't get tired of it. I just love you.
More.


My ride home tonight was strange. It was snowing, and I was crying, as I pulled of the freeway, and once I finally got to the stop light (traffic was merged to one lane, and even though it was midnight, these guys were out working on the road, and there was bad traffic) And this man, I saw him jump up into this backhoe in the middle of the intersection. He stood wiping the wet snow off the seat of the backhoe, and I felt sympathy for him, in the middle of my self pity, I stopped thinking of myself. When he sat down, his jeans were going to get wet. And how long did he have to be out there on state street anyway? Til six in the morning? What? I was obviously staring straight at him. I didn't have anything else to look at, and I was unashamed. He was staring at me, back. From underneath his hard hat, and over his sweatshirt he had pulled up over his nose, he stared back. I was friends with him. We were old pals.
And just like that, the light turned green, and we both forgot about each other. I zoomed through the intersection, and he waited for the next car to stop at the light and make friends with him all over again.

I don't have anything left.
ANYTHING. I am less of a personality at the end of this week than I was at the beginning. I am foolish, I am flawed.
And it's like, oh well.