09:58 p.m.

more more more
there are wounds that never heal.
I feel dirty writing them clothed, as though the only way they should be talked about is naked in the dark. they don't go away. they still cling to me, drip off my skin, sink into my heart where they bubble and burn and singe away parts of me I used to admire.
I miss feeling content. feeling like a had a place, a reason, a person to hold onto forever. for the rest of my life. to go to sleep beside and wake up to in the morning. someone to hold me whenever I needed it and rub my ears and feet and back and head and tell me I was beautiful and to cry on my chest and hold me like he has never ever held anyone else. like he could ever hold anyone like that again.
I miss not knowing who got what phrase from the other. who started that trend? who gave that nickname? four years. it wasn't bliss. it just was.
there are wounds that won't heal, that can't heal, whose scabs are continuously picked at until they ooze memories and pain. nothing ends. I can't leave it alone.

Monday, December 5, 2005

01:49 p.m.

I took a long hot shower to erase your presence from my body. the water wiped the remnants of your touch and smell, obliterated any clinging ghosts. there weren't many. you are a moment that has passed. the mark on my shoulder is the only sign that you were here at all and even that will be gone soon.
I am not sad.
you made me realize that I can do things now that were closed off to me before. I can touch and not feel, fuck with desire but not need. and if I never see you again, I will not mourn. this is amazing to me.
I am finally learning my limits.

Sunday, December 4, 2005

03:01 p.m.

everyone I loved
the promises we made left eternally unfulfilled; the words not written and cardboard drawings left unpainted. all the songs not put on mixes, not sung to each other in the shower. all the pain that coats me now, concentrated in my heart, polluting everything until it pours out in tears down my cheeks.
I am purging this. I want these expectations gone. wanting anything has made me weak and has kept me from having the type of relationship I know I'm capable of. I don't want to worry about what I've promised and what has been promised to me. I don't want to think of all the places I haven't gone because I said I would go with someone else. all the movies I haven't seen and all the books I haven't read. all the life I haven't lived because someone else had already claimed it as their own. I don't want to worry anymore or wonder if someone's worrying about me.
regret. I don't want regret. I don't want expectations. I just want to accept things and if it turns out amazing, then that's good. and if it doesn't, then that's fine too. I am tired of setting myself up for disappointment. I am tired of disappointing myself.
I want to trust again.
I want to love with an unfettered heart. free of regret, pain, mistrust, and expectations.
can I do this?
can I forget everything I've learned and every defense mechanism my psyche has struggled to put and keep in place? can I unlearn life?

Tuesday, November 15, 2005

05:31 a.m.

unfinished
he caught me with his sad eyes, though I wasn't aware at the time. in memories everything is obvious and I can see his sad sad eyes looking at me warily. I can pinpoint all the times he wanted me and beat the desire down. I know his face now. I have seen his eyes without the pain, as fleeting as the moments were. I have seen the ache recede as he let me in bit by bit.

Tuesday, November 8, 2005

07:19 p.m.

it's an idea at least
the darkness and his hands around my arms, squeezing so tightly I thought there would be marks in the morning. his nails dug into my skin but when I looked the next day, there was nothing. he told me stories to calm me down; recited them from memory and talked until I fell asleep. weeks later I rubberband snapped myself to keep the panic at bay and he picked up the story where he'd dropped it before. he soothes me. his voice grounds me. he says my name in a question and it almost sounds like it could be me. we'll find a name. we'll find a place. we'll find a way to be that won't involve rubberbands or alcohol or any addiction that we don't want to be tied to.

Thursday, October 20, 2005

05:40 p.m.

goodbye, goodbye.
I never thought I'd be writing about him here.
because through all my failed romances these past four years, he has been my constant. through all my pain and doubt, he has been there to lift me back up. when I shuddered, he held me until I could sleep. when I was stressed, he knew just how to rub my ears. when I needed anything, he was there to provide. he wanted to.
I never thought I'd be writing about an ending with his name implied. I thought I'd found my one for life. I thought so many things that have been invalidated.
we never had the drama all the other relationships have. I never had to chase him down and make him listen. we just fell into what we had. then we fell out of it. tumbled into a rift that can't be mended.
I still want him to hold me. when we are around each other, all of me begs to just forget the past year and let him envelope my life again. but I can't. I won't. it hurts so fucking much to admit it, but it's over. it's over.
this has ended up being his choice as much as mine. in actions, if not words.

Wednesday, October 12, 2005

10:14 p.m.

repetition is the key to repetition
my pillow is a poor subsitute for your shoulder. nights like these when I cannot sleep make the distance more difficult. nights like these when I could use your arms around me and your hand stroking my back. skin other than mine to absorb my tears and my breast prepared to cradle your head. nights like these when I feel so far away from everyone and everything. when the world is disconnected and I am just swinging, waiting to grab onto anything that makes sense. nights like these I would like to have you to hold onto, just to touch something. just to feel sane.
but we're far apart and living separate lives intangibly connected. I know you're thinking about me, because I have to know that. I have to know it because if I don't then I beat myself up over everything and just doubt, doubt, doubt. I have to know because you tell me, and I have to trust that you mean it, because I've never heard anyone speak as honestly as you do. because when you say things you really say them. they aren't just spoken for your own benefit, though it might take a dozen words more for you to spill them. they are meant.
nights like these I could use your reassurance. but I can't get that because of distance. I can't remember the last time I had to rely on myself so fiercely. this is strange to me. I hope that I can do it.

Monday, October 3, 2005

11:38 a.m.

addiction, a phase, part 1.
he's an addict. you can tell who's an addict by the way they hold their addictions. there's a desperation to the way they consume what their body needs. when they smoke, drink, kiss, there's something behind the action. they cradle their compulsion tenderly, both wanting to make it last but determined to get it into the bloodstream as soon as possible.
he's an addict. I've seen photos, witnessed with my own eyes, felt it on my lips. I've tasted that too, felt the withdrawal. I know how to exchange one addiction for another. I don't know how to stop. neither does he.
when you're addicted, you forget to fully savor your drug of choice. you spend so much time concentrating on getting your fix that you don't even realize you're doing it. you aren't aware anymore. he's addicted, yeah, an addict without his drugs. but I'm addicted too.
and I can quit anytime I want. I fucking swear.

Friday, September 30, 2005

08:48 p.m.

my own selfish ends
I don't think I'll ever find what I want (not what I need, what I want) because the people I am attracted to are not the type to do the things I want.
things like follow me around with a camera, or compose melodies in my name, or plan portraits of what I mean to them. it's selfish of me to want these things. I know it is. but it doesn't change the desire to have them.
I write pages upon pages about infatuation, love, desire. about my response to people who have touched me. I keep them here, public domain, as proof that I exist and those that have entered (and left) my life exist. it's a reminder to me, but it's also a reminder to those I write about. I want that. I want to be remembered. I want people to want to remember me.
and I've never had that. I suppose I should get used to never having that. no one has ever matched my passion or fervor. no one has even tried. and if I have to ask, then what's the fucking point?
I don't want to be passive-aggressive. I wish I could just kill off this want. I'd like to be content. but sometimes I just wonder what the point is of all the words I spew. they just go into the ether, unreciprocated and seemingly unappreciated. and I am disgusted by my expectations of something other than that.

Thursday, September 22, 2005