three in the morning productions

a wooden house

She claims she was the one who walked up to me, and invited herself to sit at my table. I laughed and hugged her. Because I was the one who pushed her away, I think--when she needed me most. It shouldn't have to be deat--... bad news that brings us together. I want to believe that there's more to this story than living on selfishly. I want to believe love is pure. So when I looked in the mirror, I didn't realize I'd been crying until I saw mascara that had bled down my cheeks. I wiped it off, but I wasn't really looking when I smeared it everywhere else. In the car, I nodded to my brother's tour-guide voice droning in the distance, even when he paused to my silence and asked, "What's the matter with you anyway?" I had been hoping she was wrong. I'm a little angry with her, even. She jinxed it. She shouldn't have kept insisting--then I twinge for shame. The thoughts of anger and shame and fear slosh rockingly in my mind. Because this is not about me. On the phone with her I knew she was trying her best to sound cheery. She laughed and joked, but it's those moments that let you know, and you just know you've got to be there for someone. What now? Does she want me to be sad, does she want me to be happy--does she want me to cry and be cheery? I don't know... I don't know... I don't--......

And amidst the tempest of emotions is an island of gray, where I feel nothing--but the need to feel something, anything.

06.04.03 - 10:33 a.m.

	a wooden house She claims she was the one who walked up to me, and invited herself to sit at my table. I laughed and hugged her. Because I was the one who pushed her away, I think--when she needed me most. It shouldn't have to be deat--... bad news that brings us together. I want to believe that there's more to this story than living on selfishly. I want to believe love is pure. So when I looked in the mirror, I didn't realize I'd been crying until I saw mascara that had bled down my cheeks. I wiped it off, but I wasn't really looking when I smeared it everywhere else. In the car, I nodded to my brother's tour-guide voice droning in the distance, even when he paused to my silence and asked, "What's the matter with you anyway?" I had been hoping she was wrong. I'm a little angry with her, even. She jinxed it. She shouldn't have kept insisting--then I twinge for shame. The thoughts of anger and shame and fear slosh rockingly in my mind. Because this is not about me. On the phone with her I knew she was trying her best to sound cheery. She laughed and joked, but it's those moments that let you know, and you just know you've got to be there for someone. What now? Does she want me to be sad, does she want me to be happy--does she want me to cry and be cheery? I don't know... I don't know... I don't--...... And amidst the tempest of emotions is an island of gray, where I feel nothing--but the need to feel something, anything. 06.04.03 - 10:33 a.m.