letter to the editor

Right at this exact time.
I feel that being single would make me the happiest. Unless, ofcourse, my body were to decide, based on a preconvieved notion, that it were to be preggers.
I feel that I am too free to be enlisted to one person.
The thing with Max was isolated. It had to do more with me being in wishes of you than of a want with him. I had grown too acustomed of what was our normnality and I seeked something to change the patter of repetition. It was not the idea that he was your friend, just a person that I happened to spend more than a few minuets talking with within the past given time period.

I go off the grid quite frequently.



I got too far in depth with you, a moment of weakness, and that is the downfall of this story.

Then again I look at all these amazing people. And do you know what they have? An amazing significant other standing strongly behind them, supporting them in their artistic dreams. I can't go through life thinking that anyone to be this attached to is a bad thing, yet I do. Negative connotations are ever so attached to boyfriend in my mind. I hardly ever refered to you as "my Boyfriend" you were always that awesome person that I could tell our awesome weekend stories about. You were never that "one abusive guy" you are always the "nice guy." I wonder why I can not accecpt your niceness as guienine. It is because I have seen the world at its worst, and the even more worse than that is yet to come. I am build to believe that no one can ever be truely "nice" because humans are build to fend for them selfs. The are built to keep themselves alive. That is the human machiene. I can not even truely view love in a positive way. It is susposed to be the purest form of expression. I can see it as a negative, if you love me than I love you way. It is a way to keep people safe, from others and from thier self. I can not believe how truely selfish the world and all in it are, because I have glimpsed eternity.
Eternity. As I have lain with. A thousand. A few. The stars reveal themselves in the purest for of white long lasting light. From earth the death of a star doesn't reach us until 7 years hence after the death was first concieved. When gazing upon the white light of heaven. I ask unto myself, "Where have I been." In the 7 years until one of Tornatos stars doth no longer glow, I ask myself, "Where have I been." I am. I am. I am desperatly waiting. Hope for ever second long that I glimps that light, like the 11:11 of the am/pm clock. I long for ever for the never certainity of desease to come. I hope and I pray that I will die before I will live too long.
Yet know, everything that gives or recieves a small amount of pure eternity is all the better for it. Her bodies, her breasts, move like heart beats on the ocean towads and ever increasing velocity and ask in wonder, "Will I, am I? I am." Know that if one has given thier light or another has lushly gifted upon the self, than that light will go on in ages for ever past and hence in a beauty of glow. That that light will forever always seek to grow. And it shall. Be gifted upon with lushness and beauty.

Like the final save of a document can be truly misleading. I want to find the words, the ways, to reveal every typing stroke so inflicted upon this machiene.

Yet every time I hear a song, a voice, a virtue, see art, hear poetry I know I am making the wrong decision.