Friday, August 21, 2009
I read the things you write, the words about your life and the people in it, though in all honesty I don't have to. I was there as they all happened. I read the things you write and notice I'm suspiciously absent, and I'm not the only one. I'm not hurt, angry or upset, I just find it fascinating what you keep in your heart at the end of the day. I've never seen someone embody so thoroughly every concept of missing something. You're looking in the wrong place for the right thing, It's like watching someone search for glasses they are already wearing.