12:11 p.m. - 2002-05-05
Can't fade me.
Faded red in a cup. The liquid designed to fade the memories of a faded love�

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 don�t have to love her anymore. I don�t have to shudder at the anticipation of wispy bits of fiction slamming my heart into the wall. I don�t 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 developing�

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