One blog and two separate journals. Coffee stained papers, bleach stained pants, ink stained fingers. An addiction of signing-on to things--it doesn't matter what-- just to do...?
Nothing. The epitome of my hatred and that which I fear is of my demise. Nothing creates nothing and nothing is certain but death but nothing compares to you.
You and I have that lazy-type...where ecstasy reigns in a single embrace on an idle bed with you. You make me want to do nothing and everything at the same time. While time ticks on and talks wind down to whispers then slow, deep, dreamy breaths, I fight the urge to close my eyes unless it gets me to you quicker.
Wake- that is for me. For the future, those kids, that backyard tree...I awake for my dreams.
But live- that's partly thanks to you. And nothing becomes something
