it-is's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- writing you letters Eyes blocked by miles of space, and keys and locks and sadness. I find it so hard to write these days, picking up a pen seems so primitive, so slow and awkward and heavy. And the fact that the words I write will be read by you make it even more difficult, more like trudging through sludge, knee-deep in thick ooze. I've never been at a loss for words. They always came, faithfully and contentedly to my fingertips and my tongue. But now, the one time that words truly matter, I can think of nothing beautiful, nothing to evoke feeling. Nothing to make you forgive me. The mail comes today, oh boy. My body twitches and my stomach burns from anticipation. I think I'm going to be sick. 4:14 p.m. - 2004-05-25 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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