Thursday, Jan. 26, 2006 @ 9:53 am
Being
We sit in the cab of his truck at the end of the runway, at the edge of the marsh, the ocean. Planes circle above, soar down to land, graceful and awkward, like waterfowl.
It is quiet. Wind gusts through the open windows of the truck.
I scared myself last night.
-How?
I was thinking about how sometime I won't be thinking, won't be at all. I tried to not think about it, but then I wanted to think about it, and then I was crying, and then I was suddenly happy and content with my life.
-That's scary stuff. I try not to think about it.
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