March 5, 2006
Snow, ice, cold and passionate glittering beauty. The bright light of daytime gives me a wonderful high, but there is always a payback for joy and it insidiously creeps through me each night. The wild frantic loneliness of each blackened star goads me into ever desperate ways to talk with him. But caressed replies grow further distant until soon I shall no longer be able to see where the tactile memories and the exchange of our words began. I have tried to warm him, but the ice chills me until I am close to death. My demise is without cure.