Tuesday, July 26, 2005

I continue to burn the rope though it dangles near enough to save me from the rising waters. The waves lapping at my salvations as my lungs fill with liquid.

I've heard you become comfortable in the beginning stages of hypothermia. If this is true I'm nearly asleep. Sleep brings the feeling of warm hate, and the icy pang of jealousy. A paradox only realized through the unreal.

Truth realized in truth.
I've lied mostly to myself, honestly.

The river rises and I think of ways to send my help home. I wish you didn't love me. This would be easier. Truth is, I might one day thank you. One day.

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