driving back from walking the dog, tired from a day of doing nothing but homework, ruminating on the possibiity of disapearing into the night

9.39 pm

I love highways at night. Sinuous ribbons of light and motion. The possibility of driving, eastward, into darkness so deep it becomes sunrise. I took the long way home tonight, so that I could pass by the lake and its hanging fairy lights. It's not beautiful in itself, really. There's too much concrete and broken glass and city grit for that. The attempt to make the heart of the city less sterile is what matters.

I dreamed of T-- last night. Like my own private ghost, hovering round the edges of my consciousness. He was a teenager in this one, or maybe even my own age, but he looked at me with those little boy eyes. It bothers me sometimes, that he still invades my nights. Then I realize how lonely I'd be if he left, and I forgive him all over again.

They say the desert is beautiful because it hides a well.