Words come easier at night. Surrounded by nothing and entertained only by myself, random happenings are my only companion.

Body frozen, heart stops.

...when the phone rings, dark angel is on the caller i.d. Panic stricken, words stop dead in their own tracks, the tiny hairs stand on end on the back of my neck.

The remainder of the ride is paranoia, somewhat grief filled because in some small way the dark angel hurt me, unintentionally of course.

Now it's all like taking in so much that I will explode, tiny bits of Kristen everywhere. There are troubles getting it all out on this electronic box, in words, on paper, in any way. But it will come, along with my learning of patience.