7:49 a.m. - July 24, 2003
I do not much feel like writing this morning.
Am I a fool? Too naive? Blind?
He is the only thing that's happened to me and I have little else against which to compare. It's me, because I know I can't replicate and will have to accept something different.
I am feeling lost this morning, unmoored.
Another night on the telephone and he asked if he could see me, asked if we could go to Ocracoke Island again and he is humble and sweet and while I know not to trust those honey lips, while I know better than to close my eyes when he's near, I nod my head in assent and wish him here beside me now.