12:14 p.m. - 2005-10-28
Haunted
This has been a strange week. Maybe it's the cut in my finger, or maybe it's the brand new chill in the air, but the environment surrounding me has been saturated with the past. I hate this place. I know I've been here too long; every bench, every slab of sidewalk has a memory...I need to get away from it. If I could, I would drive to Santa Monica, where the sky is always warm, and there are no trees that know my name. I could drown my bittersweet nostalgia in the salty tang of the ocean and dye my hair a vivid shade of lavendar.

This place, it's too heavy. It grasps at my every footfall. I find myself turning, always turning, expecting to see one of my ghosts. But they have all moved on.

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