05/15/2007

I know I said it’s always there – but what I meant is that it’s always missing…because it’s missing, it’s there. Or because it’s there, it’s missing. I don’t know. But something is missing. Or there. Or both. Or neither.
I don’t know.
But something is missing.
And it’s not just my remote control, or the can opener, or book 4 of 5.
Something more.

How do you even begin to explain how something that’s there is missing and something that’s missing is there, or how you can be so logical you become illogical, how you light candles just to blow them out again, how you fear that they’ll leave when they were never even there, how you can love someone so much that you hate them, or how you can be so alone in a room full of people? How, how, how. But no one ever asks why.