(no subject)

Just woke up out of a sound Roxicet-inspired sleep. I was surprised to discover that it was only one thirty. Not looking forward to crawling back into bed.

What were the past three weeks all about, anyway? How can someone start a conversation with someone else, and then simply drop it, like that? What was that all about it?

"Beneath these branches,
I once wrote
Such foolish words for you."

And I havent really done since Steven. Perhaps the one thing that I learned from all this is that I enjoy going on like that, that it makes me whole, and that I really want to find someone that can respond back to me in kind, who can inspire that level of creative fervor...and truly mean it. Can truly be a man and not just a shadow cypher surrounded by beautiful words.

And yet
Those whispers
Tenderly spoken
In your mother tongue.

At least a virtual relationship only virtually hurts. A break to the ribs is something solid, substantial. Josie's severing the tie that binds hit like a blow to the gut. This has less substance than fog gauzily hugging the windshield on a murky New England morning...so why is that fog hanging around my shoulders well past midnight? I will not allow a virtual tear to roll down my cheeks for something that existed in the ether.

That's it
Enough already
Onward, James.