(memento of spring 2002)

If only I could remember how to escape the grasp that's become a plague...as well as a familiar burn. The alarm clock's incessant whining will begin at 6 a.m., and it's already after midnight. In less than 6 hours I'll be facing another day, another 24 hours of wondering who - wondering what - I've allowed myself to become. It's not your fault, despite the fact that you're the personification of everything I perceive as worthy. It's as if you've fallen away to oblivion; I can't find you anywhere. You may as well be as much of a reality as the lovely dreams that graced my pillow last night. You may as well be a memory, or a photograph that's faded beyond recognition. You may be dead as well. For all I know, you could be. Heaven has consumed you, as far as I'm concerned. Some cruel, selfish god stole you for his own, bestowing upon your lovely head a tarnished halo, and placing you upon a billowy pedestal to decorate infinity. Burn.