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shiny objects

Saturday, February 14, 2004


Valentines Day. Mother-plucking Valentines day. Traditionally, this particular holiday has been a period of intense depression and/or loneliness for me. This year, however, is different. This year I happen to have JOHN. He's a fine and strapping lad of sound mind, not too needy, not too aloof, and always ready to lend a hand. He opens my jars, sharpens my knives, carries my books, and changes the CD when I'm driving. He gives me massages and whispers fragments of comfort during my surges of chronic turmoil. Despite beings sweet, kind, devoted, talented, sardonic, insightful, mysterious, and determined, he's STILL far too modest to ever admit his own worth.

John, I love you.

Looking back over my heart's secret history, I can't help but wince at all those hideous mistakes. Just remembering it in entirety - the trusts i've broken, the innocents I've besmirched, the lives I've torn through like a lustful meteor - makes my head ache. I can think of a half dozen doorsteps upon which if i were to step, the residents would drive me away by violence. I've hurt a lot of people. More than I've healed. Friends have been lost and casualties have been noted.

To those whom I have harmed before, I am sorry. I know better now. May there be no mercy for me if i ever repeat myself on John.


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