what a chance occurence that a drip of water could do this to me

2003-01-31, 8:58 p.m.

it starts with the drip of water, floating downward, on the mirror, edging closer to a dispersed death. when i look, the drop reflects my face, rounded and spherical, set like a diamond against my face in the mirror. i look, watching the red shirt jaggedly morphing, breaking and rising; graphically perfect in the moon of my eye.

that takes guts, and it takes fear, to wipe the drip away, like a stray tear, because sometimes it looks to real for this life. it looked too perfect, and i didnt deserve its shine and its artistic beauty, boundless on the translucent sands which show all aging. so i wiped it away, but i kept it in the bag of memories, just like the ones ive gained from people i left behind. i keep the little moments of each person who has emancipated from me, even though it seems i forget all but the intervals of time spent with them.

someday i will string a necklace, to pay homage to people who changed me, and to show them, even if i have no words, that i remember it all