2006-08-31 - 2:40 p.m. There are many people and things and concepts and ideas and pasts and places and personas and characters that I miss.I look behind me sometimes, over my shoulder, like I could just catch another glimpse, or maybe bring it all back to me. It reminds me of stories I've had in my head, of poems that I only ever half-wrote, of things I never said aloud to the people I meant to hear them. When streetlights and rain turn my neighborhood golden black, I get nostalgic and I want to be moody and artistic and stay up all night drinking coffee and playing the part of the crazy, depressed writer. I remember when I used to see demons in trees and angels in clouds and fairies behind every bush and branch and blade of grass. If there were no obligations, I might allow myself to be crazy again for a little while because sometimes a release from reality is called for. There is another world that is all my own, but I have not been to Katiland for awhile. The commute is a real bitch. There is another story waiting to be told.
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