Our hearts felt disconnected as I drove us down the road. The emptiness was overwhelming.
I couldn't stand it anymore so I reached my hand over the gear shift to touch his fingers. I could feel the warmth.
First it concentrated at our hands, then it slowly seeped up catching at my elbow. It was painful, pulsing, concentrated at the bend in my arm like it could move no further. It got to be too much, so I moved my hand back to the gear shift, still close enough to feel the heat between us. The longing I had for our unity burning.
I could feel the heat working it's way up my arm now, peaking at my shoulder reaching feverish temperatures. It raced over the right side of my body. I felt the twinge of the muscles as it spread through the veins surrounding my nipple and it rippled through my chest left to my heart.
I trembled, trying to maintain composure and steer the car. Hot tears burned at my eyes. The heat was rushing through all of me like lightening - electricity. It stung every crevice like mad bees, destroying my home my safe place, my body - my mind.
Then suddenly I shivered. He'd placed his hand lightly on my thigh. My foot had been glued to the gas pedal, pressing it farther and farther down, we were breaching 70 down the mountainous country road. I released.
Relief was instantaneous.
The heat was gone. He was smiling at me now, his face calm, soothing. I let my mind turn back to the road as we slowed toward the stop sign.
I felt like my heart had given out, a zombie on the road. I could feel nothing but it's frantic beating in my chest my temperature slowly fading back to normal.
I was wrong, he'd never left.
I had.

I'm not here, not really anyways.

I said I'd never come back and my mind if far off on another plane.

I haven't even noticed the sunshine. Only the rain.

I miss Canada and I suppose this proves that I miss my familiars. My homesickness is really just a sign on weakness, that I can't see to root anywhere and I always want to be somewhere I am not.

I am at home in Georgia. I will be here for a year. Maybe one of these days I'll have the guts to tell you why, but right now I am too prideful to let you in on my secret.

I am a bad girl and my parents would disown me.

For now James and I are living in his parents old house again, this time with Brittany, Amy, Michael Potter and no David form work.

I like living in this house, it's frustrating but it gives me something to do. I decorate and scheme up renovation plans and just havea good ole time.

I am saving my money. James and I work at a quaint little cafe in Carrollton called the Sunny Side Cafe. It's still in trial phase, new business world and we are all trying to work out the kinks. It hasa very dedicated staff and is owned and run by a family on Dukes plus us measly old peasants who do the dirty work doing tricks to entertain customers and earn a buck.

I am quite pleased with work. I am actually really good at being a server. it is a position that takes advantage of my extroverted qualities under a neutral environment were the are no stressors or expectations...besdies, "Will I get their food out to them on time?" and that is to be expected so's I can handle it.

My life is pretty stress free, my mother's recent surgery aside.

They had to throw out her whole uterus, it wasn't doin' the job like it used to.

She's in a lot of pain. Last week I stayed with her at the hospital, this week I have been staying at my parents house.

I've missed them a lot.

I will smoke and sleep now.

Surrounded, by shiny meaningless ceramics
that decorate the shelves like caskets in a catacomb
-dusty, but incognizable,
organized and diligently placed only to be forgotten stored
for the convenience of death.

Dusty pewter and the familiar smell of nutmeg,
a blemish on an amber sunset.

Plaster, like strawberry jam
-lusty, but insatiable,
splattered and spread adding no sustenance
only a coax to get you to eat your whole grain toast.

When I open my eyes all I see is darkness,
a bruise on a sweet caress.