[poof]
he was gone.
blackbird singing in the dead of night
take these broken wings and learn to fly.
i found a candle in the bathroom and already i can feel the creative dam fissure and crack.
the little dutch boy must be on vacation.
and just like that, the man and the end of the long aisle has no face again.
i've wanted to write so many things so many times but i haven't been able to. about so many colors and so many people. but i couldn't.
poor peter. it wasn't his fault.
this divergence, this separating of ways, this "you can go your own way and I'll go mine" as Plum so deftly put it, frees me as much as it makes my eyes so puffy i can see little more than blurred figures roaming about.
i have to go.
see ya, peter.
