August 07, 2005

Night is the time for whispered secrets and revelations. It’s five in the morning and she’s still awake and holding me, her breath on mine, telling me things. Urgent fragments of information. “I love you.” “I need you.” “I’m afraid.” “At times, my mind is shattered by insecurities.” “I am my past.” “Everything will be all right.”

Words are as simple as haikus.