6.07.2002

half chewed noodles and button up shirt. i was confined to the couch. swabbing down with the smell of clean b/c you don't think you were quite as nice as you should have been. and the people you miss don't come around much anymore. looking good with bare legs and blue and black. it's hot. don't you love me anymore? i can sleep on my side now and smell the flowers he brought that now bathe in a vase on the table. when i lift up my shirt, you can see the gauze that covers the criss cross of stiches.