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10:40 p.m. 2005-09-06

These walks are my life. A setting out under a beautiful sky and the kiss of the wind on my cheeks. Soothing. But it fades. And halfway through its no longer a beautiful night and i am no longer at peace. I am left cold, with my feet hurting from a long day, and my body aching. Sorrowful words dripping in my ear and a burdening solitude that leaves me bereft and tired under the weight of an incurable lonliness. Sitting on the street with rainwater running through the gutter under my legs, every light from passing cars becomes a mockery. Halfway through my walk i need someone to stop and take me home. I need someone that i don't have to explain the tears on my cheeks to; they will already know; and i need the sound of their voice to be a cure. And sitting there, cold and lonely, i wonder and i mutter 'these walks are my life.' And i wonder: why is it that the only ones who read my words are so far away, when i need them so close? Why are the only ones willing to give me some measure of comfort so many miles away? Because no one here has the time to even ask, let alone save my life. Sitting under the stars, sitting under the streetlight, i feel dejected and scared. And i can feel myself fading away. Picking myself up i stumble home and i whisper 'this walk is tonight, and the entirety of my life. This walk is who i am."

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words @ jake, layout @ kelly