TrippyTrivania

God I hated this feeling. The one of overwhelming sadness about to collapse on your head, destroying you. The wind whipped the limp strands of hair into my face, sticking them to my lips. I wiped them away with a flick of my hand and leaned back on the air conditioning unit. The metal was cold against my thinly clothed back. From the roof of the building, the town below seemed far away, distant in its business, its life. It was only five stories, enough to kill a person, but those five floors were all it took to make me feel isolated. I held a hand up in front of my face for inspection. They were long and languid, artist's hands, with the

Go into any high school, And there you will find it-- The philosophy of desks. Written by people who no longer exsist. Each desk's philosophy Varies greatly from the last-- From when and where, To who. Names of dead music that no longer sings as sweetly-- as it did to the corpses that immortalized them. Jokes that are no longer gotten, Forever loves that have long since dispersed, And faith enough to save them all, From it's tomb-- In a world that doesn't notice.

Dear Diary,          Though my job is taxing, thankless, and sometimes wholly depressing, days like this one remind me of why I took it in the first place.  I restored a man's faith today.  He had missed it so much, and destroyed himself for lack of it, but now he'll never have those doubts again.  Since I've finished with my work for the evening, I think I'll put this down so that I'll have it for later.  It's good to remember how satisfying this job can be.          John Farthing was a good, upstanding man, and a devout Christian not too long ago.  As little as a year ago, he went to church, gave to charity, and even sang His praise in