i'm sitting in my boxers typing quietly on my keyboard updating information on a parody web site about a friend of mine i have two fingernails on my left hand clipped with the rest waiting patiently and two midterms that need to be studied for wednesday and it's 0051 now on the next day so curly red sat in the same spot where i saw here from the same spot and i spent the time writing, not to her, or about her, or what my curiosities or fascinations, but a letter to an old friend who started me on a journey to self discovery and awareness she's married now and i'm not a nice park bench, quiet sunset, pigeons come to feed, teenagers rollerblading down the paved path, other avians perched atop the statue of some historical figure couples walking quietly down a shady lane hands entwined around a single red rose, and me with a brown bag filled with day old bread, slightly stale, crumbly in my hands, spread out for the birds to feast, and then the sun sets...