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21st February 2002 - 10:46 p.m.
Rules are made to be broken, baby..--x-- The clouded night sky holds no epiphany for me. As I look on, stars falter and fade into the black and the rain begins. I rest my weight against the wall of a house and rub my eyes feverishly, straining to feel the connection between myself, all that I am and have been, and the shadows and leaden forms over which my eyes pass. And this, the feeling of nothing, refuses to leave me, will never leave, unless something would crumble inside me, something like a heart or a mind.My eyes close wearily, and I miss someone, long for someone, terribly. In your presence is my mind complete, and I grasp for a face or a name and come away with nothing. Only a memory of perfume, which draws my thoughts into its pure sweet scent and finds me stretching my fingers out into the darkness in a violent attempt to hold onto it, to be satiated at last. This movement breaks the fragile thread by which the memory is held; it vanishes, and I peer down at my fingers digging nails into the palms of my hands, the knuckles white. **(note added, 24/09/03: later, I would trace the scent to a small dark bottle in my own bathroom cabinet, where it had stood neglected through the last season or two.)
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