Murray Hill

We broke up on a street corner in Murray Hill. I feel horrible, like what recovering from surgery must feel like. From the center of my chest to my tongue is tight and heavy. I want everyone to feel love, but there are so many intentions in the world, and not all of them result in peaceful evenings sitting on the couch watching television.

Do we ever grow beyond the 2-year old who throws a tantrum to get what he wants? The President starts wars. Corporate takeovers. I run away from a certain but unsettling future.

Tuesday, October 9, 2001 | Permalink | Filed in Dear Diary


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