"I write only because
There is a voice within me
That will not be still"
— Sylvia Plath

because cool cameras make everything look good...

my old hood...

steps make me taller.

from the archives...

here is one that really has a hold on me. look at him, lying there with his fingers laced in mine, resting his forehead at the nape of my neck, on my shoulders, my arms, my hands. look at him, his green-brown eyes watching me as i turn and twist into his body. here, he takes my leg and wraps it over him, pressing his chest so close to mine that when he inhales it feels like i am breathing. listen to him sing into my ear, softly, out of tune, and hear me sing along, filling in the words he forgets. see me feel his rough cheek under my palm. watch him take my arm, and raise it over his face, and watch him gently bite the soft, light flesh on the underside, because kissing is not enough.

no, it is not enough. this isn't enough; to hold him now and let him go. it isn't enough to ask and touch and learn each other for only now not for long.

So just watch me wait for him. watch me while i close the door behind him and fall back asleep, and go on to hold and kiss and learn someone else. watch me forget the feel of his lips and the color of his eyes and the sound of his voice. watch me let him go, but just watch me wait.