Wednesday, January 31

No Substitution Will Do

I think I am a masochist. Why else, I ask, would I continue to do these same things, harboring the same feelings, causing the same reactions, the same pain, the same tears, the same chronic heartsick illness, and never for a single moment think of stopping?

It's like pulling teeth. You don't want to-- God, don't you want to. But what else can you do? Every time you pull a tooth another gets infected.

It would decidedly help not to floss with barbed wire. But, it's what your mother did, and you're her tax-deduction.

Monday, January 29

Top of the Line and Totally Mine

Omg, dude.


Dude. I totally met this dude.


Dude. And he's like, totally rad.


Rad. We do like, all these like, things that are like, similar and stuff.


Totally. But, sometimes I like, don't know what he's like, thinking or whatever. Like I don't know what he like, wants.

Like he like, kisses you and like, says like, "Get the fuck out of my truck."?

No. He doesn't do either of those things.

Friday, January 19

Lay thy Sword in the Womb of the Rock and be Praised by Angels

Take thee to thy blacksmith. Browse his shop. He will gift you armor, woven stiff in threads of gold or golden straw. You shall not know the difference.

Take of him thy armor. Give him thanks.

Bare thy gift into thine greatest battle. Let thy armor take the blows of arrow and sword.
Let the gold protect you. Bleed into the straw.

Or, if thou art coward, do not wear thy armor. Shear thy armor in thy home. Bury it in shallow grave.

Bleed uncovered, having never known its strength.

Thursday, January 18

I Hear a Train a-Comin'!

That means more to me than I'm going to even begin to twist into words. For that I'm not good enough.

I just want you to know, that I am always going to be here. Take that in stride if you wish, but it's going to be harder than that to get rid of me.

I can't ask you to change anything. You have to do what you have to do, and I understand that. I apologize for any guilt tripping I may have done in the immediate or max dated past, but everything I've said has been honest.

And that's all I do qualify to ask of you. Don't say things unless you're absolutely sure you mean them, because I believe every every word and letter and comma and especially any left carrots succeeded by numbers. I trust you as I've always trusted you, and I trust you with that responsibility. Again, I can't help it if you wish it taken in stride. I just thought it fair that you be made sentient of the fact.

For the record, I don't care how far away you are or how often you pop up in my proximity. Well, I don't care in the respect that it doesn't change much for me except the amount of time I spend missing you. Missing you while having you and missing you when not are two very, vastly different emotions.

I'm so goddamn selfish.

Wednesday, January 17

< love> You < /love>

The worst part about our situation is all of those awesome things that happened before we died. You used to say all these little things to me that made me smile and feel that fabled warm fuzzy feeling in my gut and all the butterflies would rush up my throat and bring a redness to my face. I don't know how much of that you knew. Most of the time, the sweet things you said were digital.

I <3 you. You're worth all the text messages in the world. Tell him I'll pay him to kill you. It's understandable, really, considering we weren't together for almost half of our relationship, but it's still a notable thought. And you know what the worst part, out of everything that ever happened and everything you said to me and I said to you? You told me those things were lies. Those little things I was living every day to hear from your lips or precede the enter button on your keyboard, they were lies. And yeah, later you told me that a lot of the things we had both said we hadn't meant, and it wasn't really as heartwrenching a blow as it must have felt, but it still felt. It still feels. I think the, "I never really loved you," part of it would have stung a lot less if you hadn't made it feel like you had before you said it. When you whole world whips around on you like that it's bound to leave some cracks around the middle. Do you know how I know that this was the worst of it all? It's the only thing I still cry about. I can recall the words you used when you severed romantic ties, I can remember the heartbreak I felt in the week before when I knew what was coming and didn't know how to stop it, I can remember the emptiness I felt when my question of <3? at the end of a conversation went unanswered. Of all of that, of everything, it hurt the most to know that you were there, all the time trying to make me feel the wonderful way you made me feel, and all the time knowing somewhere inside you that you didn't mean any of it.

I would have never done that to you.

And I know somehow that you didn't mean to do it to me, but, knowing and allowing myself to feel closure over the fact are two very different things.

It's okay though. The crying usually doesn't last long, and more times than not happens while I'm in the shower. A convenient way to hide it from everyone else in the entire world. It makes me wonder sometimes if I'm the type to take hits like that and crawl back, or if it's just you that makes me that way. Despite all the hurt and all the heartbreak and all of the everything, I still want you. I still love you. I still get that butterfly feeling when you say anything that might half-consciously suggest that you care about me at all. So what if I still cry about you? Doesn't the rest of that make it a mute point? Despite everything, you're still the moonlight in the night and the sunshine in the day. Sometimes I forget you're there to think about, sometimes I curse you for being too bright or not being bright enough, sometimes I wonder if you ever think about me. But if you ever left me completely, well. What a cold, dark unfriendly world I'd be, wouldn't I?

I worry sometimes because I know you read this, and I'm not always sure it's meant for you to read. I guess, it doesn't really matter. You're the only person I feel comfortable being such an open, pathetic book to. Maybe I'm just better at being honest when I'm writing things digitally.

Let me just find that enter key. There it is.

Thursday, January 11

I'm all alone all the time, all the time

You know what I realized today? You're the only person I ever miss. I have friends, sure. Really good friends, who are really good people and mean a lot to me and my everyday life. It's just that, when I'm away from them (especially if I'm with you) I'm easily distracted from the fact that I'm living life without them. I could live a year with you and you alone and have no need whatsoever to see the other people in my life. I don't know if that's good, or healthy-- but it's the truth.

And it works both ways. I could be surrounded by everyone else I've ever met and I'd still miss you. I'd constantly note things in my mind that I want to tell you, things that I wish you could have seen or heard. Sometimes I even offer up to conversation, "He would have loved that." And people look at me with that pouty puppy look that says "I feel so very sorry for you and your difficulty."

But really? I wouldn't want it any other way. It makes those few minutes I get to spend with you absolutely worth it. I would trade a year of my life for ten minutes on your couch.

The worst part of this is that I can love every gundamn inch of your body, and it isn't enough. It's never enough. I could love everything from the disheveled hair on your head to the funny little mole to the feet you relish holding three inches from my face-- and it isn't enough. It isn't even close. I have hair and moles and feet. I have habits and mannerisms and an overall presence that isn't something you can ignore. I know that. It tears me, but I know it. I almost accept it. I don't think I'll ever be able to fully accept it. You can't just pretend something that devastating doesn't exist.

Monday, January 1

Does that make sense?

I never miss you more than I do when I'm with you.

Why is it that every time the phone rings I secretly hope it's you?