I'm trying to hold onto the conversations, the order that words go and how topics changed and flowed. I can't, I can't although I'm trying desperately. They're gone again. Like the smoke I am tired of craving. Maybe this is why I latch onto instant messanger as a substitute for vocal conversation. Copy. Paste. Remember. I'm violent when I press that skip button. Truly. I entertain myself with tragic circumstances. Car crashes, audio background drama. Tears shed. If I had the stamina, this is what I would write about. I could fill volumes and then lock them away, pass them on to my children. Eras of the past. The person's soul behind the face that feeds you and sends you to your room. All that jazz. No, I didn't know my parents were people for quite a few years. You would realize that you didn't either, if you thought about it.