12:11 p.m. - 2002-05-05
I lay in the center of the cube that is my bedroom on a bag of springs and padding, looking up at the ceiling.
I donít have to love her anymore. I donít have to shudder at the anticipation of wispy bits of fiction slamming my heart into the wall. I donít have to watch her like the parent of a toddler who is curious of electrical outlets and bright cleaning product bottles.
It was always my choice, I know this, and now instead of feeling like I was wrong to have felt so strongly, wrong to have loved so hard, I know that my mistake was much more simple than that. It is a lesson that is not that difficult to learn for someone who wants to learn it.
And I do motherfucker. Point taken.
Faded stamp on the wrist. Faded recollection of a night out. And a whole new set of circumstances developingÖ