September 2, 2002
Something Good
"You can take all the tea in China, put in a big brown bag for me..."
Van Morrison. 'Tupelo Honey.' Good shit.
I wish I could figure out what is wrong with me. I feel like something is eating me up inside, but I don't know what. Some quiet, nagging cynicism, perhaps. Some random, irrational fear.
I want to see him everyday.
Saturday night. Waffle House. I am, appropriately, eating a waffle. Mike is tormenting me with grits. That's when it started. This mood. Just then, when we were there, when nothing was said and yet something was unsaid. I'm falling apart with feeling for him. I want to crawl inside him as much as he wants to draw me in.
I feel your pain. How can one fall in love in so short a period of time? How can something feel so right when there are so many claiming that it is wrong?
I don't want to say we were made for eachother. But one, or the other, was made for one, or the other.
I want to see him everyday. I want to see him today.
Kelsi and Cassy and I are going to the park. I love my friends more than life itself. I want to see them.
I just feel like today is but one grain of sand, a lesser grain of sand, and I am allowing it to slip through my fingers. I am wasting time. Precious. Time.
Is he an angel of the first degree?
No.
But he's something. Something good.
astera at 12:40 p.m.