thirty degrees.
it is below that or above that, one.
i only know it's cold. and tonight
thankfully the wind has chosen to remain
silent. the trees do not care to dance.
and neither do i for that matter.

and today,
you called and you talked and i listened and
you said no and i said yes and we both laughed.
and perhaps later, i will remember what it is
we said. for now, i am content in my ignorance
and
i actually enjoy picking at my fingernails.
i enjoy not having to worry about what to say
next. there's noone beside me anyway
and
there hasn't been for quite some time.
but
i am not a sad thing. my loneliness is truly
my own and cannot be cured by the touch of
some man who says he loves me. or maybe just,
that he likes me. either way.
i am not a sad thing.

and all of this
isn't really necessary.

i only wanted to write a poem about the cold.
i didn't know that i would end up finding a
part of me in this
or
that i would lose
a part of
you.

12/12/2003

Author's Note: i dont know.

Posted on 12/12/2003
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