She took my poem. I can't
believe it. She took it. She was trying not to let me see that it affected her,
but it did. I know it did. Why would she have taken it otherwise? If she wanted
to, she could have taken the whole book, but that's not what she wanted. She
wanted the poem, her poem. The poem I wrote her.
She asked if I wrote about her… Duh.
But she asked… She sort of thought I should be writing about her. How weird is
that? I don't see it as arrogance either. It wasn't like any man should write
poetry about her- but I should.
I'll write her more… I'll write her
something I intend for her to see and keep. Do I have the guts? I think so… I
mean I said she meant way more to me then my own personal cat burglar. I also
admitted I worry about her… God do I worry about her. I can write her
more…something sweet and simple. Well, here goes nothing…
There, done. What should I call it? Max
would be the obvious choice. Dark Angel- nah, too surreal. My
Angel, she might get freaked. How about Heart's Ease? I don't know
if she would get that. Would she understand how much peace she brings me by
being her? She makes my heart pound and yet… I sound like a stupid teenager. Seeing
you- I like that. That is how I see Max.
Now where to put it… Will she come
back tonight? After I have gone to sleep probably. I should lock the rest of my
book up. What am I thinking? If she wants to read it, there is nothing I can do
to stop her. The woman is a cat burglar. No she isn't, she's… I don't know. No
one will ever accuse Max of not being exciting and absolutely fascinating.
What the hell is wrong with me? Ever since… ever
since I don't know when, I have been unable to get the butterflies in my stomach
to go away. I have been so not me recently. The cabin… It must be the cabin…
I'm still in the chair and she still wanted to take a vacation with me. It
really doesn't bother her…
I'll leave it out by the book on my night table… No,
I don't think even she would be that brazen. The computer room, I'll leave it
there. I should probably put it on top of my journal. That will definitely get
Maybe I should send it to her? Maybe not? She would
probably get really freaked by that. Two steps forward, one step back
perpetually. Why is it that way with us? Because we're both chicken. At the
cabin was my turn to be chicken, now it is hers. If we would just drop our
defenses… who am I kidding? She'll still be coming over for dinner and playing
chess when I'm fifty if I don't do something.
Two steps forward… I hope she likes it.
of the day
Desperation of the night
motor oil on her cheek