Friday, Jul. 05, 2002 | 12:23 a.m.

he says i'm shaped like a cello. and sometimes when we're lying there he starts to play something on my back. and i wish i could hear the beautiful melody that his efforts would produce. if i actually were his instrument.

ilikethismorethanmostotherthings/people.

the image of his hand pressed against the windshield is sacred.

[hey honey. i love your smile.]