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January 5, 2002
Why can’t I just be more honest? It’s not really that I lie, but sometimes evade the truth and keep bottled my true feelings. This happened again over a plate of three-egg omelets and greasy hash browns.

She asked if I knew who I’d settle down with.

Of course, no one knows the answer. Yet. But on my best days I dream of sharing a home, back yard and kitchen with her. Though when my mouth opens, my eyes close. I’m unable to look at her directly. I mumble something about not focusing on that question at the moment. LIAR.