11:48 p.m. - July 12, 2003
My housemate / flatmate / dullard accused me of being a voyeur and it was not that. How could I explain that I finally understand the phrase make love that I never compehended wholly? Akin to T.S. Eliot's fulness of the hour, the drawing near of the next, presience where the next footfall lands.
They were beautiful and I ached not for loneliness or greed or desire but for all that I've missed because I didn't realize what I had.