heartbeats.

It's been a month. Today marks a month since I've had any contact with that man I fell in love with.

I saw him once with his mom and children at Yogurtland. We didn't acknowledge each other.

You know that Sheryl Crow song, The First Cut is the Deepest? Yeah, well it's true. I still think about him all the time. And I desperately want to reach out to him. But I am respecting his wishes, and instead I keep a journal for him.

Is that pathetic or what?

Whenever I think about him, or have the sudden urge to call or text him, I pull out the notebook. It's a spiral bound notebook. Has a tandem bicycle on the front. Sometimes I date the things I write. Sometimes I don't. Sometimes the messages are brief. Sometimes they're long. I skip lines and follow no form or style. Sometimes they're more like poems. There are magazine clippings and such. Collages of sorts. Voice through art.

I miss him. Pretty much everyday.

Some days are worse than others. Sometimes I still cry.

I pray for him sometimes. Not that he'll come back to me, but that he's happy. Finding his way toward being whole. And accepting of love.