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So Joe and Madeline are talking about "them", as I moderatemediate or somesuch (because I am stonecoldsober) and I saythink to myself, "I would kill for this kind of candid conversation" with a certain somebody, knowing fullwell that not even that will occur.
Joe and I had a discussion tonight. About Madeline and about Gillian and about swallowing and about conceding that despite how good you have had it until now, someone is bound to spit it out. Someone is inevitably going to be unatainable. There will always be a very special person that doesn't know that you know it, and never will. A someone with whom you will always form "the impossible us".
We talked for an hour. He was drunk and I was not. We were talking about him and his issuetroubles, but all the while, it has always been about you.
And it kills me that it has taken me this long to get this notfar. Time has been wasted like you would be there in eternity. Why? Because I am a scared little boy. I am afraid of everything. The world scares me.
I should end this. I worry too much about what people thinksay and it's getting to me. It's finally time and things are getting to me. Running doesn't get you any closer to never. Christ.
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