Entry Number Eleven: Riding on a shooting star

[diva_myron]

I was walking along the Crane a few days ago (or was it weeks?), and I felt: constipated?

{Let's altogether say: DISCO, NOW!}

Comments

Private to Myron

[deirdre_ivy]

[after some time; she cannot answer at first and must leave the journal]

I'm still disappeared.

I only dream a little anymore.

Private to Myron, continued

[deirdre_ivy]

But what I do dream, it seems you dream too.

...do you truly, then, exist only in my head, as I have imagined?

Private to Deirdre

[diva_myron]

The landscapes of your emotions; frozen, is it the word?

The redness in the air has ceded. All rimed now.

Re: Private to Deirdre

[deirdre_ivy]

I suppose. Retreated, maybe. Suppressed, more likely.

And how are you? The worst question on this earth, I know, but I need to hear why you and I'm sorry.

Yes, it has. There was a frost over my lawn this morning, and it was as still as in a photograph, though not as cold.