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Racing back under winter sky. I look up at the purple and heavy. I am tired of winter and it is tired of me but tonight we have put our differences aside. Tonight we are sisters. Car lights, stars, who can tell the difference? Certainly not I, with my face against the glass just peering out. Tomorrow I won�t be here. Tomorrow I won�t be here. And I�ve said this before. Done this before. Why does this time feel different? And I am so bad with good-byes and nothing I can think of to say feels as cool and as smooth as the winter night against the glass against my skin. "Tomorrow I won�t be here," just isn�t a proper goodbye and I don�t remember it being this hard when I was younger. We do these things that are hard because we must all grow up sometimes. I want to roll down the window and stick my arms out and ride the wind. I want winter to be over so that I can stick my face out and kiss the wind. Tomorrow I won�t be here. . How Rude! - Wednesday, Sept. 22, 2004 - 12:16 PM One small step but no giant leap. - Tuesday, Sept. 30, 2003 - 11:17 AM Where's George? - Thursday, Sept. 25, 2003 - 12:48 PM |
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a Nifty design 
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