there is a light

...but I dreamt we was all beautiful and strong.

Last night I sliced my palm open with a razorblade. There was quite a lot of blood. I wasn't drunk but I was crazy, desperate, furious--like most people without much in the way of hope. I guess I said a lot of things, but I don't really remember any of it. It's just shapes and feelings and images. I remember her face, things she said, and the empty feeling of an empty room once she'd left and I was alone on the floor, bleeding.

I've bound it up since then. She saw me this afternoon and wouldn't look at me.

It had nothing to do with her. It never does. We'd let each other down so many times there's no depths to which we can't sink. She's dependable like that. When I'm tired of the rest of the world being fucked she's always there. Sometimes she helps. Mostly she makes me so upset I do something crazy again. And in the morning the world's still fucked but I'm so pissed at her and distracted by my hand to really care.

I took a bus back home tonight and dropped my wallet on the way back. I was listening to headphones and not paying much attention, and settled into a seat, and a man came up to me and handed me my wallet--Here, you dropped this, and for the first time in a while I smiled and said thanks. And for a moment at least I wasn't so worried about things.

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