i try to tell christopher what i'm like when nobody is around, when nobody is watching me. i tell him about clasping my hands in front of me like a sad little angel, about how i repeat to myself over & over "one foot in front of the other. one foot in front of the other." he tells me if he had a camera in someones home & he saw them doing that, he's be fucking terrified. but i mean, that is mostly how i spend me time. or with my head in my hands, staring at the keyboard between my fingers. when she isn't home for me to be here for, i just wraith. i live a life constantly in estatic agony when she is around. heaven is a cold place, but the cold is a wick, like a candle. like being doused in alchohol, the lifting, burning cold of its evaporation. i'm starting to think i love her as much as my hope of heaven. what the fuck is she doing to me? i am not a crab, to be cracked apart to get at my sweetmeats! i am a spider, delicate in my cruelty, meticulous in my trap-weaving. my threads are stronger than the iron from which my being is crafted, so how come she can swing through it like a careless hand through cobwebs? being in love sometimes freaks me out. this morning i got a glass of water & then looked at the brita filter & put it back in the refridgerator, saying "there isn't anybody here to fill it up for."