2005-01-02 - 8:21 a.m.
i forgot about this poem. i just wrote it the other day, the day after Christmas. So, this is from 12/26/04. It is officially the last thing i wrote of the year, and it pretty much sums up my writing style of the year- whiney amd meloldramatic. Oh well. Here it is:
Imaginary conversations echo through the sleepless nights.
i wish he'd call.
i wish that i could bridge the ravine between us,
to fix what didn't work,
to fix what's wrong with me.
What is wrong with me?
i miss him so much it hurts.
Inside, there is a this gaping hole,
this chasam of silence,
the remains of something grand.
All i have are memories
and misunderstandings.
Miscommunication.
Misery.
i wish he'd call.
