One of the waitresses at the Diner is Bonnie. Yesterday would have been her 27th wedding anniversary, were she still with her husband. "If I had killed him the first time he made me mad," she said, "I would be outta jail by now."

I'm going to be one wreck of a person come March. I haven't seen him for two weeks and I'm climbing the walls.

This is one of the saddest things I can think of.

I've memorized the colors in his eyes and how he looks when he's sleeping. I can't remember my theatre homework, but I know the shape of his fingernails and the sound of his breathing.

I've started writing letters I'll never give him. About, things that I'm thinking and the classes I'm in. Steve Amaral is throwing calculators. This morning when we came in the desks were cold and hard, and the scantily-clad girl to my left screeched indignities. I'm wearing the ring you gave me for my birthday two years ago. He'll probably never see them. I'm not sure why I keep writing.




ash @ 9:36 PM