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2002-02-28 - 2:48 a.m.

boy who isn�t here right now:

used to tell me i had nice legs even though i don�t, call me in the middle of the night and let it ring once, beat me in scattergories almost every time, was the first person to tell me i was beautiful, perfect shower company, psychic when i didn�t want him to be, took me to see my first tori, told me to write and i did, told me i was better and i was, saved me from the self-centered bulimia-vanity, stayed with me the night of my acid stupidity, was the last person to tell my i was beautiful and mean it, last to have my little girl self and that�s where i�ll leave it.

there is this vast empty space in my bed, there is this emptiness in my aching head. there is this weeping in between my fucking legs, why don�t i write love letters anymore? i fell in love once. love is a whore

baah