I am going to teach my hand how to write again.
I so desperately want to let him go, why am I so scared of doing it> I don’t want things to be like before, when I was so scared, when he was more intent on his friends than me. Was it selfish of me to want attention? To want some part of him to be separate from everything else?
The water is beautiful. The light is soft and clear, the air warmer than any I’ve felt for months.
I still miss him. I still miss the way things once were, when he’d rather talk to me than anyone else.
I lived in a fairy tale for a little while. Few people get that chance at all.
I knew about this for so long.
The questions I asked I am still asking. When will I stop falling?
I need to go to the ocean soon.
do I believe in you, God? do you exist?
I want to be happy. Please?
Happy New Year.
The creek smells dark and earthy and clear.
I am going to worry less and write more and do yoga more. I am not going to be so afraid.
It’s so easy to look at the reflections on the water of –
putting the pencil in the waters of my youth
I walk today this warm January day along old paths.
There is the circle of stone where we burned Guy Fawkes in effigy (elegy), twice…
This last time we were both somewhere else. The same place, almost.
We both have to grow up, our hearts in the hands of Life.
You are a chapter in my story, not its entirety, just as I am in yours. And I still miss you, the smell of you, the touch of you.
We will remember each other.
I still want to say I love you, but I don’t think I do anymore. …
I have to be whole.
[upon the unpleasant discovery]
I don’t even know what to say now.
In a way it’s a relief to know that I was right to be so worried. In another way it sucks.
And I still wonder what he’s thinking.
Why can’t I let go? Why do I feel like shit? Why can’t I ever make a resolution last?
I keep on thinking that if I were dead there would be no questions. There would be no nameless uncertainties.
There would be none of this unreasoning ache.
Why do I keep breaking?
I don’t want to be like his mother, who is broken. I do not want him to think that pity is love.
I want him to be ok, but I wish that I knew he missed me.
be like the birds…
…find someone who means the same thing I do when I say ‘I love you.’
“to be nobody but yourself – in a world which is doing its best, night and day, to make you like everybody else – means to fight the hardest battle that any human being can fight, and never stop fighting.”
– e.e. cummings
how remarkably lucid.
So here we are, waiting for the plane.
“I only made you up to hurt myself.”
I wonder why I let you haunt me so. How suicidal am I, really? How much of this really is me slitting my wrists over and over again in my mind because I’m too scared to even cut myself?
I wish that I had more control over myself.
I wish for a lot of things…
The Dallas airport is actually pretty nice.
It was strange to see the land from the air – I loved this place when we lived here, so very long ago. We flew over a huge and sprawling lake, with the odd sailboat and a gorgeous coastline of narrow strips of sand and grass. So beautifully minimalistic.
Over an hour until the plane leaves. and… i think i’m in the wrong gate.
The moon is gorgeous, making the clouds milky-dark beneath it. I can see stars, a few of them, shyly beaming from the deep blue.
I wish I could take a picture, or paint the beauty that I see, the clouds rippling below like an arctic tundra or the sea.
… into a deeper shade of blue…
Why does everything come back to you?
All of my feelings are as dark and vague and obscure (oscuro) as the clouds below me.
I think I want to be a travel writer now.
Do I have any stories left in me.
chiaroscuro. help me find that balance.