Thursday, May. 04, 2006 - 6:17 p.m.

I wish I knew what I thought or felt about anything. I like Spaceboy. I like him a lot. He�s kind and sweet and funny and smart and he seems to know exactly how much room I need. But now the first flush of terror has subsided, there�s no butterflies, no lightning.

Then again, I know where the fireworks have got me in the past. The phosphorus of in love burns bright, but always burns out.

Am I just having a different type of falling, or is this just warm body syndrome? How do you know if you�re building something or just avoiding something?

On a completely different note, in the meaningless chit chat that starts Bright Eyes� Big Picture at the start of the Lifted or the Story Is In The Soil album, the girl who says �Make a right here, yeah?� sounds just like the me of an alternate existence where I was raised in North America.

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