December 8, 1998

technically the next day...12:09 a.m.

i can't stand long on my own this time. leaning on you is better. i'm shaking and terrified. i close my eyes. breathe in. it's you. wrap yourself around me from behind. pin my arms against my body. warm thoughts against my neck. don't let me run from this.

it's unfamiliar and sweet. confusing. i'm so used to catching. this time i'm falling. i'm collapsing under your words. into your hands. come quickly. i miss you. keep me.

this morning...

shallow water. i need to rinse off. i've been here too long. 4 a.m. staring at a ceiling. my daughter lying next to me. her breath slow and steady. a half-smile on her face. she deserves more.

awake, reading death. breathing you.

i'm shapeless, void. an unwilling participant. here in your box i am alive and breathing and slowly dying. i need patience from you.

happy, running, smiling. we were. i almost didn't make it down the hill last time, but i'd do it again if i could. sitting in the middle of freezing stream water. laughing at my own indifference.

i want to breathe without regret. smile without constant screaming in my head. turmoil coursing through my veins.

i'm waiting here for them. unsure and unhappy. i am not alive now, how am i to live 70 years? your convincing overwhelmes me. lips quiet me.

i am no longer shaking in your hands.