There is an aching that burns somewhere between my clavicles and breast bone. I like to call it desire. I feel it deep in the pit of my stomach into my veins seeping into my blood stream and out through my toes, straight out to my fingertips, and stifled in my mouth where it yearns to take hold of something, to say something, to do something.

ahh valentines day, clearly the shittiest of all the holidays.

There is an artist named andy goldsworthy, earth art, he calls it.

I wonder what things would be like if we viewed life and death and transition the way he makes art. Sand to sand, ever changing, natural, if we embraced all things for the time we have them in, and calmly and fondly allow them to change and remove and develop and dissipate. If we felt things as they are, transient, and love them for that. Were meant to lose the ones we love, or so i hear.

I was drinking coffee today and I thought of you. I was thinning out paint, and i thought of you. I walked across the hall and i thought of you again. I remembered i'm an idiot, still i was thinking of you.

also, i wanted to know what his favorite dessert was.