as each moment, each piece in this wicked puzzle, floats forward i accept the fact that things have to change to get better. [[ . . . yes, this is what they tell me; maybe this is what i tell myself so that i can sleep at nite . . . ]] i am letting myself believe that i will be okay & worst of all fearing the time that this fake smile that i wear [like skin] through out these days might become a real one. but that's always when it strikes me like enlightening bolts of electricity that the only real smile that will ever grace this face, that has ever graced this face, came solely out of habit.
there are so many rusty nails driven through rotting wood that she forgets what not being in pain feels like.
written on 2003-08-24 at 12:04 a.m.
she / lost