Tired of drowning.

It doesn't hurt. Not anymore. These are the words I keep tellimg myself. The longer I say it, the more it becomes true.

Life goes on. They were all right. It was not the end. Existance doesn't suddenly cease just because one boy is gone. Or two...

I like to think that I've become more independant these last nine months. I've taken a rather rocky approach to words of confidence, but I believe I've reached my destination just the same. I'm happy to just be me. but that won't stop me from my mission of finding us.

My expectations and reality are so completely different. That is to say that my expectations are really more like day dreams; dreams that I alone cannot make come true (my dreams involve a second half). This is becuase I'm not dreaming the proper dream; I dream of us. So far, every fish has succedded in snapping my line. That is okay, though; I hate fishing. What I am doing is just living my life on a boat (mother fucker), while trolling an invisible, sturdy line behind me, without attention. This means, If someone bites, neat; if not, neat. If no fish takes the line, at least I'm on the lake. Or in the lake...