02:26 a.m.

I'm drunk, or at least slightly over tipsy
writing this is a bad idea
but sometimes intoxicated is the purest state
I'm not in love with anyone, or so I say
who's to say what's what in this state
sober me before I go to sleep
tell me that you love me now
I have trouble tasting it from your lips
you get so serious
when paired with it too frequently
over and over I want to say it -
i love you i love you i love you
yet
i refrain
i am so tired and intoxicated
i have such little tolerance for this type of game
just like everything
just like everything.

Thursday, June 27, 2002

01:00 a.m.

conversation glitches.
When he offered to take off work tomorrow if I'd spend the night, I said, "you aren't falling in love with me, are you?" He laughed as he pulled back his hair and said no.
I could see his nervousness. Or maybe I just wanted to.
Later he asked if I was falling in love with him. I told him, "Emilies don't fall in love. Actually, that's a blatant lie. But I'm not with you." I might have been lying too.
When I told him I don't trust anything sudden, he said,"but it isn't sudden. We've known each other for years," and while I know that's true, I am right as well.
I said that I've had enough of drama and enough of complication. I want simplicity, but only get complexity.
Later he told me that just because he said no to my question, it didn't mean it wouldn't happen.
So what's that mean?
"No matter what, we'll always be friends." His idea.
"Like we were friends for those two years?" My idea.
"I changed." His.
"Who can say you won't change again?" Why am I so sad?
Why do I get so sad?
but ... so happy?
Why do I keep trying to analyze everything that I should just take as is and enjoy as I have it? Why do I feel the need to grasp, then throw, then pull, then push? Can't a thing just be a thing, and not some sort of composite?
Can't I just let it be?
I think I might. I should try. Everything's worth the first shot.
Some are even worth a second.

Wednesday, June 26, 2002

01:51 p.m.

more.
I closed everything- there was nothing left to do.
When in love, don't fear running. Sometimes it's all that saves. While dreaming, I roll over. Otherwise I may smash my hopes. My brain disagrees, but I never trusted it anyway.
I try not to fear the eventuality of the situation, but it paws at my intestines and makes me feel so bad. I know everything in advance, which is why I do it anyway. What's the point of changing it if the situation can't be moved? I've seen it. I feel it.
but -
when you come to the realization that something you thought was one-way is mutual, everything changes. Everything was already changed. I want to be optimistic, but instead I just feel jaded. Close-eyed. As though I'm ignoring the obvious in order to try something I know I'll never win.
But I'm trying, damn it. How many times can I convince myself of that necessity? I cannot stagnate, despite all arrows. Despite everything, stagnation is what hurts the most. I will find those little changes that keep me from dying.
Even though I get so scared.

Tuesday, June 11, 2002

02:44 a.m.

circle driving.
I don't want to sleep. There are certain things I keep thinking about and I haven't felt like this in so long:
it's time to ramble
ikeepthinkingaboutthewayhesaidmynameinsuccessionandthewayherubbedmybackandthighsandarms.
irememberkissinghimandthewayhisclothingsmelled.
hishairandmyfingersthroughitandeverything
and
everything
now I don't want to go to sleep, I don't want to go to bed. There's a boy there that I love and is thin as arms can grasp too tightly. He moves me in a way that makes me want to melt inside of him.
But it's not what I want right now.
because I remember the way someone else felt, how tall he was, how large his hands were, the different way he looked at me and the different way he said my name. I think about how heavy he was and how different.
how different.
I know it's all a mistake. I can't help it. I love my boy but I miss the excitement and the drama that I'm feeling now. I haven't had a good dose in ages.
It's so early now. So late. I should be in bed. With him.
Fuck. I've missed this.
and dreaded it.

Tuesday, June 4, 2002

02:10 p.m.

And then it's platonic.
all the things I said early this morning and last night?

Forget about it.

Monday, June 3, 2002

01:51 a.m.

.. and more
I wish there was some way to draw all the things in my head
he said to me "do you know what you do to me?" and I still don't
it's days like this I get so insecure
he walked me to the door and I felt so cold
I could still smell him when I got home
and it gave me shivers

there are so many other people with his name -
I get lost in the backlash
I just want something to hold on to
I know this will pass
it always will pass
but, fuck,

Monday, June 3, 2002

01:20 a.m.

What I wanted.
to know what would happen
to not have things left unspoken
a reply to something said too late

far too late

Monday, June 3, 2002

12:54 a.m.

'round full circle.
I never meant for it to happen the way it did -
though honestly, I couldn't be happier with how it is
I just don't want it to end the way I feel it going
my arms out-stretched and left in mourning.

Please tell me this isn't the end of heartfelt lustfulness. This is more than just a two week stand - two years have changed so much of us. It was more than worth the wait

don't leave me hanging in depravity.
say you'll see me again for old time's sake
I know it's never like they say
I know
the things
I was thinking ..

I want you too, please don't stop touching me. I love you, though I could not tell you
(justlikeyoucouldn'ttellmefortwoyearsthatyouthoughtiwasbeautifulandgorgeous)
and I wouldn't just be saying it.
I miss you too much

I left glitter everywhere
so you
wouldn'tcouldn't
forget.

Monday, June 3, 2002

09:56 p.m.

just .. move.
I keep myself secret, this secret self of me, in order to tell myself secrets, and keep them. I try to repeat as much as possible so everything will bleed out, and out bleed itself, in order to move on. I lie, mostly, because no one mostly understands. I'd rather be misinterpreted for saying something that wasn't true. I am wildly impassioned by that which has no sense, sensible passion can't exist. Inspired by the dreams that others dream and do not tell me. I can feel them though; they visit.
most specifically, they visit me.

Tuesday, May 7, 2002

09:51 p.m.

more stale stupidity.
ever since I told myself "it doesn't matter" I've been passing out. waking up with three black eyes and crusty blood trailing thinly from the corner of my mouth to wherever it is my head isn't resting anymore.
the mirror lies so I cross my pupils into exclamation points. it never works.
i try repeatedly and laugh when I pass out again. someone, pass the smelling salts - i'm feeling shaky.
so
arms at four a.m. that held as close as snakes on monkey bars. sifting like bread crumbs in a collander and I am falling swiftly into nothing. I remember - "you know it hurts when I don't use an analogy for the pain" and you know it hurts when I overuse them.
try to describe anything just to ignore what is being felt. like you. like me.
just like everything.

Tuesday, May 7, 2002

12:18 p.m.

more disjointed babbles.
and- I.won't.hold.on.until you.tell.me.to.
I tried - to-hold onto
something that I had no right-
so
when I fall, it's me pushing down
I have so many
heart attacks
attacks of my heart

I deny drama, but I let myself live it. I breathe it and bathe it and swim freely down. Last night someone tried to hold me too long.
I pulled away. Got lost. Confused, but I drowned him.
so
how many people will I just string along? wear them like fine pearls draped in a sink? why do I keep them when I don't care - except to feel wanted, loved, and desired.
Desire-
so? how long can I wait before I grow up? age isn't anything, but why do I care? losing each other to lose ourselves- I purposely gave up so no one would win.
has anyone won?
I stopped playing. kept watching. switch sides.
joined in.

Monday, May 6, 2002

12:14 p.m.

biased truth.
you don't miss me anymore than you miss who you were in the simple moment we combined. nothing means as much to you as being someone else. I look outside my insides and see a tumbled past, crumbling unceremoniously, merging with myself.
When I said, "I don't know," it wasn't just a line. uncertainty is so certain it's hard to see past its form. every truth I ever told combined and formed a head. it opened up and spoke to me and said
so
many things.

Girl you gotta grow up, find something real. You spend too much time out of sun, feeling like you breathe. Don't you know you can't be living unless you feel alive? What do you call yourself when no one else is watching - it isn't by your name or shape, it's something bloody dead. Hands that you don't see come and change your inner workings, they move them into something that never seems like you. Never feels like you. You spend years reconciling this pain you cannot name, sure you're making too much of it but unsure of how to go. Unsure of where to go. Wander, little wanderer, until you fit yourself in. Don't listen to anyone who says You Don't Belong.

Thursday, May 2, 2002

11:36 p.m.

There are still so many things I haven't been allowed to say. So many things left to express. Feelings still caught within me, not allowed to surface. Nothing is allowed. Nothing.
So how does one go about telling people how "it" is when "it" cannot be defined by conventional methods? Why is the english language so sloppy that beauty can never be properly conveyed? Nor emotion. Never emotion.

Thursday, April 18, 2002

11:27 p.m.

more uselessness.
I've never counted the fragments of a shattered mirror. It alsways seemed so pointless, so self-defeating. Who needs so many pieces of a once whole thing?
Who needs so many broken bits?
I don't want to hold anything anymore, except a stranger that will whisper promises broken as they're made. Nothing should be with me now. Nothing like love or hate or need.
I don't need anything.
The later it gets, the more I say. The more I say, the less I know. How could talking about nothing be so confusing? How could saying nothing be so sad?
What is a heart when it isn't beating? Alone? Useless? Dead?
Falling back again, into the half-insanity that once consumed. Who leads a person there but their own decisions? Nothing better to do with one's jobless days than harp on bad choices. Just a matter of perspective. A chance of nothing.
It's getting later every moment, and as we've all learned, moments begin it all. A lifetime of moments summed into a word, trivialized by that sentiment. Jaded. Typical.
We all stereotype ourselves, whether or not we fit those confines.
And he says? "Humans never stop."

Thursday, April 18, 2002

11:24 p.m.

random bits.
Driving home from a movie today, following Chris's car. Thinking about things that I need to let go of, but would rather hold onto. things like remembering the way Jared would close his eyes when he hugged anyone, and how he moved his hands across the person's back. The first time I kissed him, in my kitchen, leaning against the counter where the cabinets full of random foodstuffs are kept. Watching him play any instrument was like voyeurism - it always felt like I was watching something passionate and sacred. Like peeking through a window with binoculars. That first kiss, and wanting to be with him so badly but somehow knowing I couldn't be. wanting to all the same, but knowing it couldn't be.

These past days have been so odd for me. Last night I woke up at 2am and started kissing Chris beside me - I didn't know who he was and I didn't know who I was, but damn. What I did felt so good I didn't care about anything other than his mouth on mine. Remnants of that kiss have been fading, pulling away from me throughout the day, no matter how many times I grasp on; no matter how tightly I hold it continues to slip from me. That kiss; that perfection. Not knowing anything but the darkness, the warmth, and his mouth. Not even being conscious of gender. not even being conscious.
He told me today that he wasn't even fully awake until a half hour into it. Neither was I, which is why it was so good. neither of us was trying to impress or please the other, we were just doing.

Monday, April 8, 2002

02:46 p.m.

just everyone.
Always seems strange the way so many people take any problem a person they know has and turns it around to themselves. No matter what it is, when it is, people just take some event and liken it to themselves.
Yes, you got kicked out of your house, now you know how I felt for all those years.
Yes, your father screwed you over, but at least you helped me.
People take two totally unrelated events and somehow combine them.
I am a selfish person. I admit this freely and with shame. I could make excuses for this, I could pinpoint examples, I could blame my nature and my upbringing and a million other things. But I won't. Because I know I'm selfish and I have no excuse. I will not take your pain and make it mine. I will not plan a pity party or agree with your own self-pity. I refuse to be a part of some sort of melodramatic hammer that you continue to smash on yourself and everyone else.
Furthermore, I will send my own hammer back and expect a full refund, with interest, for all the shit I've managed to accumulate by using it. But that's my fault - perhaps I'll just return it and say what I lost by weilding it is my own damn fault. It would be true.
This is to many people, and to myself. Life revolves around no one. No one is the center of anything. We're just floating globules of odd disjointed consciousnesses that somehow bump into each other by wacky coincidences.
So stop thinking that everything someone says is specifically directed to you. Sometimes it's true. But leave a little doubt there, ok? It's sad that the people I'd want most to read this never will.
Or maybe it's better that way.

Saturday, April 6, 2002

12:30 p.m.

I just wanted someone to understand.
I don't want to leave here, I don't want to have to move. Getting up means accepting all the shit that's happened these past two days; this past year; my life. I just want to wallow in the drama and not admit that anything has happened - that I can go home, that I still have a home.
But I can't. And I don't.
I remember lamenting about growing up, I remember wanting to leave. I still do. I still will. But why must everything I decide on never come to fruition on my terms? Why is it getting kicked out? Why is it getting fired?
I tell everyone to take responsibility for their life. I need to get this in my head again - everything that has happened to me is a response to how I've chosen to live. I could have stayed yesterday. I chose not to.
I cannot endure that environment.
But.
I just wanted to find someone who knew what I was going through. I want to know what to do. I understand the need to be told what actions to take. Standing on your own two feet can be awfully harrowing, but at this point I have no choice.
I just hope he doesn't want to talk when I go to collect my belongings.

Friday, April 5, 2002

10:19 p.m.

things better left unfelt.
the beauty of brown eyes, staring without shame. Unused to such amore. unused to such unabashed lust.
so the things I felt and wanted to say would have been so appropriate elsetime, elsesituated. at that point they would have been disasterous. still could be.
still might be.
platonic love? strange concept. to say "I love you platonically" while feeling someone up. there must be an inbetween - somewhere that isn't friendship but isn't romantic. something that's lust, but not blind. language bars me from such expression. many things hold back my abillity to express. sometimes they're people.
or a person. or a connection to said person.

like love.

Thursday, April 4, 2002

10:16 a.m.

breaking.
what do you do/ when you feel something breaking/ something like cement you used to stand firmly on?
who do you tell/ when your best friend is the reason/ and nothing can salve it/ cause the breaking is you?

everything changes in moments. we count out lifetimes in years, years in months, months in weeks, weeks in days, days in hours, hours in minutes, minutes in seconds, leaving the seconds to nothing. it's the small things that matter, the moments that go into seconds and all time pieces. moments define us and change us and make everything real. and dreaming.

Tuesday, March 5, 2002

08:04 p.m.

love of confusion.
triteness abounds in any discussion of emotion, but especially love.
Love has been, understandably, romanticized since people could place a name to it. Love took the term "romance" and turned it into a synonym. Synonyms are never as good as the original word. give me romance. give me joy. take your fucking love and shove it.
yet, and yet, I swear I'm in it. not just feeling it, not just rubbing it, but wading neck deep and barely able to struggle in its sucking muck. but it's so warm inside, maybe I shouldn't even wonder what the fuck I'm doing there. it's so comforting. so submissive.
and yet controlling.
someone pull me out of here and let me see objectively. is this right? is this good?
can I breathe now?

I swear, tritely, I made love for the first time four days ago. the term "making love" has always annoyed me, has always seemed wrong and rose-coloured, but I swear it was the only proper term for what I did.
I made fucking love.
and it was good.
I want more.

Saturday, February 23, 2002