Picking the Short Straw
2007-10-03 - 1:51 p.m.
She'll lace the pillow with kisses, and it still won't be enough. I'll run outside onto the bleachers and hope to God it'll rain because I look stupid with these tears clouding my vision. So much time passes when you're picking daisy petals. Not enough time passes when you're picking at bits of your heart. The sun is shining, and a not a single cloud is swabbing my vision, yet I think I'll draw the shades and sleep for an hour or so.
I wish you were here already. I wish this was all over except for the big bang theory. I wish I knew, I wish I knew what I was anymore because I think I'm reverting back to old habits and picking at age-old wounds.
"Good night, moon." She wrote.
Me.