Monday, Nov. 22, 2004 : Antique rockingchair to die in
I didn't think there was such a comforting, accepting silence. It swallows me up. Sit there and stroke my scars, and still. That's all it is, a series of moments, not even that, one, two. You sat and stroked my scars, followed them with your fingers, that's all.



Feeling:
Listening to:
Pretending: