you don't know what else to say or do. stuck between writing what it is you really feel and keeping it bottled inside. and what good does that do? you vent about work, and quickly make it private. catholic guilt is built in and snug. but there is no reasoning with madness. it is what it is, no changing that color. noone ever changes do they? people just keep being themselves, regardless of the negative effect.

you're in limbo. you miss school work, the precise fingerwork of science. you miss being wrapped up in the arts and her scarves and paints. your clarinet sits in its box, since 1979. your books are put away.

how many times. how many years, will you think it'll take waiting for your life to begin? waiting and worrying all the while missing it all. you've come damned far from where you were almost 4 years ago. picked up, packed up and moved to another state, with nothing but 2 cats and hope.

for what? to learn how to swallow the junk, because it's too tough to care anymore? headgames, mindgames, stupid games. pointless games. that take up time you'll never get back.

that's the way things are. you hate that sentence but find yourself repeating it softly to yourself. you are nowhere. but still hanging onto the beautiful landscapes you walk by because you can't help yourself. who can pass by a blushing tulip and not appreciate it? or the sweet pug with his black lips and dark lined brown eyes looking up at you asking what's the matter little girl.

maybe you're just looking for some thoughtful conversation that'll make you shine for days. or are you held back by some dark force hovering somewhere in new york, ghosts who don't realize that thinking sends sparks clear past state lines, through the thick fog of forget.

you read that last page a long time ago.