- [her]: «how was your lunch?» - [me]: «awful. but i ate it anyway since this was all i had.» judging from her face i guess she was expecting a slightly more formal answer.
at work people keep on disappearing never to be spoken of again. in the afternoon, a bird flies by then loudly comes crashing into my window. and my heart stops. my throat is tight and my stomach is in knots. i'm scared to turn around fearful that death might be here and if ignore it it's going to be just fine. my hair smells like cigarette and on the bus a guy twice my size chooses to sit by my side, squeezing me towards the window. and inside i feel like i could die because i can hardly bear this. the intensity. sebastien-dahlin' calling me on my cell as i'm still stuck next to that window, awaiting my nearly coming deliverance.
----- wednesday 11th;
she didn't ask again how my lunch was.
- [him]: «would you happen to have a cigarette?» - [me]: «yes. but they're mine.»
«i know that we've never met before but that was then, and now i need you more [...] taking me down off this cross lay me down, down, down in the dust whoa, love, take my hand across the crowd [...] i have no children i have no husband i have no reason to be alive, oh, give me one»
just a moment to thank to those who replied to this, whether here on lj or elsewhere. profusely crying into my pillow last night did a little bit of good & as for the rest i'm trying to cope the best that i can.