the sixteenth of january. what stays with me? my father always asking me if there was enough light, to read by, to write by, to draw by. always telling me not to sit too close to the television. always telling me to make sure & let my car warm up long enough. always with that sad, sullen expression. all of these years the life has been draining out of him, all these years. & it's only now that i know why. it's only recently that he has confided in me, the things that my mother had said to him, done to him. i never loved you & i never will.
the sixteenth of january. what stays with me? there was always me. always longing, i was always wanting something more. there was always me. always unfolding like a pink rose in the sun lite. always allowing my petals to fall softly at my side. always losing something, someone. yes there was always me, looking at me. looking at my reflection in natural lite, in bathroom lite, bedroom lite. sometimes loving what i saw, sometimes hating it, hating me.
the sixteenth of january. these things that i carry with me, they are getting heavy. & all that i really need is for someone to help ease the burden.
written on 2004-01-16 at 11:02 p.m.
she / lost