believe me, jeremy

there's something so terribly unattractive about sadness sometimes. is it merely weakness? because it seems ok for these people:

the elderly
children
mothers
dogs

and i wouldn't qualify all those as weak examples of life, would you? so what is it then? is it the neediness? there must be a few factors.

(this, again, is not a profound piece of writing. it is merely an apology; thrice now, i think.)

i have spent much of my life figuring out myself and very little progress has been made. but i think that puts me right on track, no? i am selfish and that's not always a bad thing. but lately i'm sure it has turned on me. (did you catch that?)

somewhere in the tall grass--the fields i will forever hold in my mind as the place where i could frolic--there is a line. but must i chop everything down to find it? do i drop to my knees and pat the earth?

he told me the other day that he is lost...

i've been watching things end with him, for him, around him for quite some time and somehow i have found solace in this. rather than reaching out a hand, i jumped alongside, remembering--midair--that i cannot swim in dark waters.

is it possible to be kind when you're sad? how about strong? sane? it must be. i'l figure it out, jeremy. is it better now that you know you are an means to an end? it might turn out well.