old mornings

This morning my plan is to check the mail. I have made no other plans. It seems like the streets are pointing fingers at me, the concrete of the parking lot is frowning. There a plant by the window sill that I haven�t watered in a while and I can watch its leave wilt. If I cannot live, why should it? i have questioned even the punctuations of her letters, the motions of her wrist while I watched her scrawl a signature onto a collection of poetry she wrote. There is no math to explain the slowness I feel. Lethargic. Somewhere it bitter end lands she is smiling at someone, laughing on smoke breaks, sending emails to someone new. Maybe. I am tired of oceans.

2004-06-16 | 3:21 p.m.
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