I am a widow and I need a man to carry me. I'm sweating desperation, but you're too dim to pick up on it. It's like I'm standing under the Pink Flamingo flashing, "I will settle down with the first one who swoons me". I am the queen of comparison, so I will fuck you on my floor, in my room, at the door. We'll stain the sheets or wave our flag, but I know we'll never have what I once had with him. Sweep me off my feet and we'll saute our skin on that dead boys bed. I want to feel you fuck me, because there isn't much to feel anymore. What if I told you that you have the most beautiful friends in the world. I don't think so. With the soul stolen, frame and magnet, on the fridge, my fucking canvas. That dead body does not exist.

Winter is cold and lonely no matter where you are in the world. It paralyzes me. I just sit and wait for it to end. I swim against its current only to realize I have gone nowhere. By the time I realize this, my limbs are burning and my mind is too tired to try again. Spring comes just in time for me to recover.

Christmas is rolling around again. It's hard to get into the spirit when it's 70 degrees and sunny. People try to compensate by putting out as many Christmas decorations as possible. There's still nothing better than something as simple as snow. After 2 years of absense, love is finally making an appearence. Lets hope it flourishes. I don't think I can watch it die again. It's true what they say about fools who leave too soon, they don't ever really move on.