Dina

There is a night with certain light you put me in. And so I live my life as if it were the book I will never find it possible to write. This is my story but you write it and that way I alone begin to become. Finally someone tells me it's the night. Soon to be day again and the night a distant darkness you cut your fingers on. An unfinished edge you put me on. It is not that I am really dead, but rather described. That's how all the meanings alter. Millions of things are the same as this.

Wednesday, June 01, 2005

Here's Texas.... Puppies = friggen adorable.

Dina

Wednesday, June 01, 2005

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