leftunspoken's Diaryland Diary

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Telling

I've tried three times this morning to write here.

I've cotton in my head where the thoughts are supposed to be. And actually it's possible that's my normal state of being.

Winnie the pooh head full of fluff instead of brains.

Forgive me.

It could be I'm afraid of the flood that would come should I start. I have the strangest feeling that I'm quite on the verge of spilling out a list of every horrible thing I've ever done, every cosseted fear, every secret suffering. Painting for you all the choked red things that live inside each of us. The things we spend lifetimes trying to wash white.

01:12 p.m. - August 28, 2004

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