| Current mood: |  thoughtful |
letter to no one.
Sometimes, when it's dark out. And the leaves on the tree outside my window are rustling with wind. And it's so quiet in my bedroom, and so dark, my mind circles in itself. I wonder if you think of me.
Or of the Gish you used to know. That girl that gave off sparks in your presence. I wonder. I guess I wonder a lot. Usually when my lights go dark, and I feel like feeling sorry for myself. I never think of you when I'm feeling good. Which should say something to me, one would think.
You. Are a combination of so many other men in my life, I thought it was the perfect mix. The good, the bad, the incorrigible. The sweet parts, like the spot on your neck. Or the crooked smile that looked so goofy. But mostly, the hands. Clean nails, the most beautiful hands I'd ever seen in my life. Even now.
But that's all gone now. I have mostly forgotten (not really) and I often think of other things about you.
And each and every time, I come back to the same thing.
You don't exist, and maybe I just made you up.
That doesn't stop me from wishing you'd pick up the telephone sometime...and call.
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