"It Ain't Love Until It's Over"

These days, when my belly is full of pepper, when my fingertips ache for expressing -- I can't paint regret or want or relief. I can't sit still. I can't stand. I can't stand it. I ask so many stupid questions.

I feel benign. And satellite-like.

Maybe this will have been a turning point on which to one day look back knowingly.

I think of you much more than I'd ever be willing to say.