I sit in the car, blasting Rufus Wainwright's Hallelujah to drown out the sounds of the rain. It has been raining intermittently the past week, almost as often as the changing directions which my heart swings for you. My heart swings low for you today, and it isnt remotely poetic.

Pitter - Patter ... Pitter - Patter

I crave palpable emotion the way authors, painters, sculptors, musicians crave for the grace and beauty in their work. I'm starting to feel everything through bursts of black and blue.

Pitter - Patter ... Pitter - Patter

The funny thing, you see, is that I have learned to embrace my pain in all it's splendor. Though the thoughts of you, my absent lover, can only be defined as beautiful; it needs to be locked up and put aside. It cannot be wiped away with the tears you and i have cried. It is no longer about me being bitter about it all - but only that i come to sudden realization that i wont be a part of "the big scheme of things" in your life anymore.

My heart is now beating to Ben Harper, his guitar, and his song that reminds me of what we are, and why things have come to be like this. I write this because i know the cold, numb, death inside of me has already started to engulf me.

Pitter - Fucking - Patter