Sigh. Thank God the rains have come at last. We will now be socked in for the next nine months, but this is for the best.



Because I can write and sleep and cry and furrow back down under those down blankets that were stuffed into the closet while my apartment stifled in the summer. In other words, I can relax again and be my melancholy self, not always under pressure to smile and dance like the sun demands.



Whether or not there will be a male heater somewhere in this winter, I don't know. Library Boy and I mostly called it quits last night, sitting on my Red Couch o' Love (and Loss), where I've made out with so many boys these last two years and broken up with not a few.



I cried and cried and got his t-shirt all wet and couldn't believe how handsome he looked with his scruffy beard and his necklace, and the sad, sad expression on his face as he tried to figure in his brain some way to fit me into his overloaded life, but in the end, he just couldn't. Which is what I expected. What I didn't expect was for this to be as hard for him as it was for me.



And though I did attempt to convince him that loved belonged in a person's life no matter how busy they are, that fact - so true to me - is not to him. He's a man on a mission, and that mission - right now- is about making himself.



I don't hold that against him. Or the fact that he spent two months months successfuly sweeping me off my feet, only to do an about face and realize he'd gotten in over his head. He's a wonderful and soulful person and he brought so much to my life.



So please excuse me if I'm crying all over my keyboard right now, and not only that, in a public place. It's been buses, meetings, cafes, sidewalks all week.



Watering everything with my tears. As if anything needs it with all this rain.