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09.17.03 - 8:50

the big things are too big right now and so i let them sit on the side of the road, picking up dust. i'm walking more slowly than i used to. i'm thinking more slowly than i ever have before. what does it mean when words and numbers make you cry? so what you do, i suppose, is distract yourself with the good things, the colorful, pretty ones. but when i look around they are so few and so far between.

no. no, no, no, no, no. i'm just too exhausted, too fragile, too anxious, too empty to deal with your pain. i'm thinking about you. but there's nothing i can do. i'm not really one to pray but maybe i'll say a little prayer for you. but that's all i can do right now. it's more than i might have done earlier, it's far, far less than i might have done earlier. i don't know what else to say.

distractions include: online grocery shopping, baseball's penant races, indian summer, trips to the library. trips and more trips because the books can still take me away. i read in the morning; i read on the bus. i read in the afternoon; i read in the night; i read any time i might possibly have the time to be reading. i always have a book, sometimes two or three. most of the time i'd rather read the book than talk to you. don't feel bad about that. they can't hurt me.

it was the most beautiful tableau, a bright doorway at the end of the hall, everything else dark. the curtains hanging white blue white, the bed glowing white, yes, glowing. the navy sham. the beige carpet. the dark and the quiet. from the end of the hall it all looks so far away. but everything else is shut down, night-black. so i walk, heel-toe, heel-toe toward my door. my eyes start to adjust as the light spills out my doorway. i slide the chain into place and check the locks. i walk into my room and close the door and if you were at the end of my hallway now you wouldn't see my glowing room, the carpets and curtains, the bed and the sham. all you would see is a rectangle of light, the door shut, dark and forbidding.

sometimes it doesn't matter what you do. you're on your knees, crawling, you're hanging on by your fingertips. you're desperate. but sometimes it's better this way. when you're broken, when you're tired, when you're completely empty, desperation only means that you've got nothing left to lose.

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