Dorian Hargrove 8:30 p.m., Dec. 12
The only storm ahead of me is the one I have created. Every step is heavier then the next and the Oceanside Pier dosn't feel long enough. The music blasting through my headphones does not sound loud enough. The people around me look to happy to be lost. My childhood love has become just a freind, the hurt is so large I wish I was walking the Golden Gate. The wind isn't cold and people are searching lines for fish. I'm searching for another broken heart. A few passerbys look into my eyes but my tears chase their stare away. Todays wallow is one of empty connection. Maybe with my next walk I'll be finding love on this old pier. The wood isn't old enough to fall through but if It were I'd only want one friend to catch me.