Notes I Write to Myself

I can't expect the people around me to be close and care and love when I can't return their feelings with my own, when I throw their's back into their pursed lips and open arms.

Something never change and some always stay the same.

And here I am again sitting alone on the floor locked in my own words, trapped in this sactuary I created, but to others it is solitary confinement and I lost my own key in this barren room.



its spring now. I'm impressed how quickly the trees have sprung into flower and the women into short skirts.

but today, 5 into april, it snows just afternoon