Just about nowhere is left to the path to his house..
and carnations don't do any justice to it..
as always there are doubts to his love for yellow and red flowers..
and the rain has ceased to excite us..
its late afternoon and its cold out there..
the road to the lake is all dry grass..
and the city seems to just wake up now...
just about nowhere is where I'm standing...
Its still cold out here...

December 20th, 2005

Written for a friend.. who I had started to love at that time. And he's never read this.. My bastard.