The best writing in the world, period.  There is proof.
Dec. 5, 2002
volume i, issue vii
it's raining
I want to hear them through the walls.

I want to be closer to them having sex. Not because I am sick but because I miss love.

Sometimes I pick up the phone and dial. Pause. Breathe. And hang up again.

I don't think we speak the same language anymore And I am afraid to find out if it's true.

I want to let you in but I don't want to be easy or cheap.

I want it to be like the orchard summer of '84. Hell I would even take another Honolulu of '99 when we whispered to our friends and parents about lost selves and borrowed time.

I would like to borrow some more time. Maybe to squeeze your hand. Pass a note. Say I'm sorry.

Maybe we could change the stars. Or the wind. Or lift the fog.

In dreams. In Baltimore.

j.t. blue ©2002
baltimore nights
j.t. blue