April 1st, 2002 - 1:00 a.m.

i have no explaination for this.

I wonder who is supposed to receive and answer prayers. Whomever it is, they are not receiving. Look, at least some small sign of divine intervention would be nice. On the part of a dear friend. Honestly now. If I could only do something to help. Sigh. This powerlessness to aid.

Am on the verge of tears. But feel somewhat neutral. I wish there was someone I could call. Collect this feeling in a pitcher, and pour it into the phone. But I know I would resent that.

Want to find a hole to hide in. Nestle in. Stocked with supplies of chocolate, Acqua di Parma, San Pelligrino, and pizza #15 from Il Fornello's. I will never come out. You cannot make me.

I do not make a good statistic.

This will continue to be a struggle uphill for some time. I can taste it in the air.

What is done will never be undone. I will never forget, you bastard. (I do not know what came over me. Slip of the subconcious?)

I send out an unknown morse code into the atmosphere. "Do not ever try to talk to me," it says. But in my heart, I am dying, my tears drying on my index finger. I just want to hand myself over. Even though I know I would resent that too.

Simple things amuse me. Am easily amused.

It will rise and sparkle in the sunlight. Rise like the dawn. To open like dawn over a peaceful land. Have yet to fulfill that prophecy.

n.

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