nothing is truly impossible
12:18 a.m. x January 20, 2004
I'm in a fog again, only this time it isn't emotional. It's some sort of flu or something. It could be some exotic disease that I picked up in the middle of shopping for curtains. I highly doubt that.
If I did, and I died from it, I'd die happy. Happier than I've been in a very long time.
I'd drift off to heaven with thoughts of babies named Emma, and ice cream, and three bedroom apartments - Things that seem impossible and so real at the same time.
It's amazing how one conversation can change your whole outlook, yet you knew that the words were there on both ends for a very long time.
I don't expect this to make sense and I don't plan to explain what I mean. This is written for myself, because I want to remember it. It's written for someone else, because I want it known that the nearly impossible means something to me and that a part of me is going to keep my fingers crossed and count down the days for another nine years.