Dirty fingers stain beautiful things.

I only know how to express myself with vagueness. Because I don't know how to put things any simpler. I miss Sam. I miss Krista. But I stopped myself from being a part of them when it counted most. And I continue to do the same with Krista. Now Sam's broken off into the abstract, and I can preserve him as what I always saw him as: the most beautiful person I've ever known. He's the most unreal and real person. For me, he connects life with everything beyond it. Maybe I just wanted to hoard my time selfishly for myself, without the burden of caring. But it was hard to see and hear him fade away to the other side. I wanted to stay with the real, because the unreal scared me. But reality scares me all the same. And then I think of Sam. If only I could stop separating these two qualities in my mind. I need a place to hide. But I can't find him.

The 16th is the dead center of the month. And though time is cyclical, it feels as if the middle of the month is less avoidable. Time's gone by so fast. And now, next week, it will be seven months. Nothing is any more found now than it was then.