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ghost story

i just got off the phone with peter cushing and my hands are shaking.

this is my old best friend who was in a coma from a brain hemmorrage.

everything he remembers is foggy, like a dream. like words he used to say, people he used to date, cities he used to live in.

he says he is not allowed to read or write before noon. he says he is depressed and bored. how badly i want to hug him so hard. show him pictures of everything and say 'remember?'

what a fucked up thing. he was training as a med student at ceder sineai. and then he was living there, for a month, in a bed, in a blackout. but who knows if it was even black. maybe it wasn't any color at all. no shades. just bits and peices of memory wiping itself away.

oh peter cushing. we used to do it on a mattress in an empty apartment. he said i gotta leave this town. i can't do this forever. you have no idea how...

frustrated?

yeah yeah. that's it. that's exactly it.

it's like talking to a ghost.

11:38 p.m. - 2005-02-07

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history - mystery