my dad and i have the same big toes. it's taken me twenty years to notice.

i moved into my apartment on wednesday. i'm almost positive we have ghosts. the doors contantly slam by themselves, and about fifteen minutes ago, my tv turned itself off. the ghost left my xbox on though. good lookin out, casper.

life is so short, and witnessing a close friend's brush with death last night verified that. i've been thinking too much today.

the first came to my apartment for a few hours, after a lot of convincing on my part. faked love for an hour or so. i don't care if it didn't mean anything. he was mine again, even if only for a little while.

the second tried to fill his shoes the very next night. had me tangled in his legs and in his dreads and in his kisses goodnight and in his sleepy sighs and in his arms and in his words, but none of that could have ever compared to the way the first would have had me tangled. i can't forget him.

"love is so short, forgetting is so long."
how very true is that? three years are gone. where did they go? will i ever find them? no, i won't. the searching for the years that have flown by is all a part of the forever-long process of forgetting. the process of learning to live without half of your heart, half of your being. the splitting of us into me and you. the acceptance of the loss of mutual friends. the learning to deal with the aching in your chest every time you smell his cologne or hear his name or see a green jeep riding around town. the disappointment you feel when another touches you and their hands don't feel the same as his did. when someone kisses you and their lips don't feel the same as his did. when someone makes love to you, minus the love, because you know that the only real love you will ever know was his. the going to bed alone. the "goodnight"s and "i love you"s whispered to ears that will never catch the words.

e.e. cummings is a wonderful man, but i need to find me a j.r. cash.