9.15pm October 1993

Dale mentioned 'crushes', I haven't had one in quite a while. I have only vague memories of the insidious and painful flutterings that accompany the 'crush'.

So here's misty crush-ramble from Sydney University quad 1993. The fellow in question was a very nice boy (with a girlfriend) who fooled around with me a bit on the side. Despite the gravitas of my perceptions at the time, I did get over him, and proceeded onto better and more painful crushes:-)

Call me melodramatic. Call me obsessive, but it seems in this fog I stand, and alone imagine I watch you fly,-leap at the warming sun, way from the chill of my arms, away from my curiously breaking heart. I am smoking. I know you do not like that. It is almost as if I'm trying to provoke you, isn't it? -I have this desire you see, to become she who knows how and when to lt go. But you must see that I can't. I am chaining you with these words, I hold you down with the full weight of my soul -a weight no one should have to bear.

I am watching this fog you see; it's dancing, it's making love to the streetlight,-it disappears and licks forward again, tormenting the darkness. The cigarette I am holding in my left hand, enabling me to write, glows cancerously, I consider stubbing it into the wet sidewalk but am distracted by a tearing cramp. I am smiling, realizing that I am, in effect, writing letter aftr twisted letter to you in this book, masking its strangeness with a false belief that these are actually diary entries. I know you'll read it, and smile, and perhaps kill me with silence that I will fill the next 4 pages guessing at. It's a strange game we play my lion,-don't you think? And isn't it strange that sitting here in the fog picturing you, I know that my obsession has become love, and that I should never have written it down, because anything you say now will rip me apart. I am a fool, and you rather than I hold the strings of the storm. I stub my cigarette.