|
SubscriptionsSites I Read
|
|
|
|
| "And baby what hurts the most is letting go, I just want you to know that I love you so. I know things are different now, you've gone and settled down, when I thought for sure you'd always wait for me."
I'm slowly sinking past the point of no return and for a brief moment I was glad for it. It seems, quite literally, that wherever I turn there are couples coming together. Whether they're miles apart or lying side by side, on the phone or chatting quietly online, they're all out there. And myself? Well, I'm cuddling up with a story that brings up the memories of my ex (unintentionally) and wondering what's really left for me out there.
Bury my head underneath my pillow and come out only when I've been taken far away from this place. I'm happy for each and every one of my friends who've found someone they could be with, but this dull ache has been kicking my butt for the better part of this year and I'm ready to find something better.
I couldn't find any shorts to go with my tanktop tonight, the weather is unnaturally warm, and my eyes landed on a pair of shorts I had yet to return. Slipping them on, I figured, what the hell? What's the worst that could happen? Right? Well, as the song plays, I consider every little thing. I consider the ring at the bottom of a vase, a card stuck between two books, some shirts stuffed in a closet, and a number I've long deleted from my phone book - but will always remain burned into my memory.
I miss him and these five months haven't changed that. I wonder if, in seven years, I'll still feel the same way? I can't really imagine him with me anymore. Even the memories that I dig up are so farfetched in my own mind that it's a step away from blasphemy just thinking about it. I guess the million dollar question really is, do I miss him or do I miss having someone? Though, to be honest (and not the tad bit modest), if I really wanted a guy I could have him. I suppose, even if I really wanted him, I could try and get him back. My pride wouldn't let me (thank God for that) and neither would my self-esteem for that matter.
There's this barrier that I stand in front of, a sort of looking glass if you will, and I spend a lot of my time contemplating it. The glass is cool beneath my fingertips, my reflection someone I fail to recognize. I see a lot of who I've been, what I've been through, the good and the bad, and I always try to reach for it. To hold onto some semblance of the past. To hold onto the girl who had the boy - despite her insecurities. To hold onto the girl who had the friends - despite all of the drama. I think a lot of the girl I used to be, the high school memories I've been trying to repress, and I'm not quite sure where she's gone.
I don't really recognize me - this person I've become. She's a far cry from what I used to be. The similarities are there, and possibly the only thing that remains is this dying affection I have for the boy in my past.
I can't stand to be around my friends some days. In the confines of my mind, I try to hide away everything I think about late at night. I don't fake the enjoyment I have when I'm in their company, but sometimes I feel like there has to be more for me. There has to be more fulfillment in my life than this banal existence.
I'm embarrassed that I'm still here writing about this. I wish this thought process would end - or that I'd have something more interesting to write about but I guess only in time. | | |
| "Boy, how could you lie to me? Thought you would die for me. I'm not accepting another apology. After three years I'ma let it go - can't stand around cryin' no more. Got your bags packed, sittin' by the door. I'ma leave you heartbroken on the floor. You gonna be in the emergency room. I'm standing by your bed, I'm so tempted to pull out your IV... You gonna be in the emergency room. I'm fighting with myself - I can't hurt you even though you hurt me. You gonna be in the emergency room, tryina call a nurse but nobody can help you now. Let me see you try to live without me, now would your heart be flatline on the EKG?"
Something needs to happen and it needs to happen soon. This limbo that I'm living in isn't cutting it. It feels like I'm floating somewhere in subspace, not really living, just existing.
-
I don't have much to remember you by. Some clothes, the last ring you gave me, an entry in my senior yearbook and now this card. There's not much in this room, in this house, that should remind me of you. None of it actually being your's. I go everyday in this town and I never see you, never have a chance encounter. I never "accidentally" see you with her, although these days I'm not sure which "her" I'm referring to anymore. None of my friends ever intentionally bring you up - and to be quite honest, I have absolutely no excuse as to the amount of thoughts I have that include you.
It drives me mad, you see, how the smallest thing can remind me of you. I don't look for it but my head automatically makes the connection. Random things. Like reading a fanfic will make me think if that's what you'd do for your leading lady. Or how reparking my car late at night reminds me of how you used to try and find hideout spots for quickies. I disgust myself with remembering these things but I really can't help it. Sometimes I'll be so caught up in the present and the thought, I kid you not, will cross my mind, "Hey I haven't thought about him in a couple of hours..." What the hell is that? What the hell is that?
Part of me wants to delete the subscribers on this xanga who know me in real life. Sometimes I feel the need to censor myself or to write about something that doesn't concern "you". But does it matter? It's been nearly half a year. I no longer count the days nor the weeks but only the months. It's nice knowing I've gotten so far, yet it pains me to know I still have much further to go.
Today as I drove, because you didn't answer me (nor did I expect you to), I felt as if a weight was being lifted off of my chest. Brick by glorious brick was being disposed of as I drove another mile further from this place. For each mile was another weight and each weight increased the wattage of my smile. It soon got to a point where I was by Calistoga, and I knew I'd need to turn back. I was running low on gas as it was and I only had a gas card for a specific gas station.
As soon as I turned around, I felt the bricks being stacked right back up. My smile began to fade and I knew I was heading back to desperation. I found myself home soon afterwards and I wanted nothing more than to hide out back on the beautiful road I had discovered. Where the twilight met the horizon and there was nothing but me, music, and the cool breeze in my hair.
I tire easily of my thoughts and I don't care much about revenge, or being a woman scorned, or retaliating. What's the point? If anything, I wish I were miles away, so there'd be no reminder of you except for the memories sealed in my heart. Where I could look off into the distance and not automatically connect it with a memory of you.
My bed provides no comfort, my dreams no escape. The company of friends aggravate me more than they comfort and stories only provide unspoken motives that might have been. Constantly reminded of your absence or even of your presence in the way they hesitate to mention your name. I feel sick to my stomach every time I mention you, myself, and I really just want a place that isn't tainted with you. Seriously.
It gets easier. Nothing more than a dull ache when I imagine you with any of your lady friends. Nothing more than a most healed bruise when I think of all the hurtful things you've said. Nothing but a nostalgic sense of hope when I think about all the wonderful things you've done. Even in the ER when I wanted you by my side more than usual these past few months, I didn't give in.
I couldn't be with you even if it would work. We're too different, too much has happened, and there's too much I couldn't let go. But what is it with this fascination of you? If I'm so set in what I say, then why can't I just... Stop? Stop thinking of what could have been. Stop thinking of what you're doing right now, if you care about what I'm doing, or something of the sort. If I can clearly see that we'd get nowhere fast even if we were on a speaking basis, then why can't I stop?
It frustrates me to no end. Really, it does. In fact, I want to erase this entire blog because it's about you. God, everything is about you, isn't it? I can't even muster up the feelings of self-pity. Who cares?
I just want to be past this. And if this progress says anything, it says that I'm healed but the scars are still there. If anything.
I guess I'll put this on private, because I can't bear the thought that people know I'm still thinking about you. It'll be my secret and mine alone. I'll guard it with my life, because even putting up the pretense that I'm over you is better than letting everyone know you're still at the forefront of my thoughts.
-
I took this off private with the thought that this is still my problem, I'm still dealing with it, and nobody who knows me in real life reads it anyway. So, I figured, for all intents and purposes I'm still safe. | | |
| "I still remember the ways that you touched me. Now I know I don't mean anything to you... You're easy breezy and I'm Japan-easy, soon you'll mean exactly nothing to me and that means... You look stupid, tellin' all your friends how you got the best of me. I intended to share the pleasure only. Now I look stupid - we're livin' in a world with a lot of pressure. It's quite unneeded to put more pressure on me. You came and went and left my house like a breeze just passing by. Hello, goodbye, you left a note saying it was nice stopping by... I should have never ever let you inside."
Life is a little surreal right now. I keep thinking that I'm waiting for something to happen, some sort of sign or event that's supposed to magically let me know that THIS is the direction my life is supposed to go in. I wake up expecting to do something but then I quickly realize that there's nothing to do but the mundane tasks of every day life. It's like I'm waiting on a cue but I don't even know what that cue is.
As if my life couldn't get anymore dramatic, he had to go and purchase me a card. Write a bunch of nice things in it. And really, doesn't that sound a little suspect? Truth is, I'd rather think it was a nice gesture as opposed to pinning him down for being a conniving little sneak.
Coming here to write doesn't bring the same release that it used to. I feel like I need questions answered. I feel like I need some closure. Writing just brings my mind around the same circles that it's been in for the past how many days. | | |
| "There's a harvest each Saturday night at the bars filled with perfume and hitchin' a ride. A place you could stand for one night and get gone. And it's clear this conversation ain't doin' a thing cause these boys only listen to me when I sing... And I don't feel like singing tonight... Oh, the same song... Here in these deep city lights, girl could get lost tonight. I'm finding every reason to be gone, there's nothing here to hold onto..."
A pounding in my head, my chest heaving with each breath, and the screen a blur.
And as much as I want to complain the truth is I wasn't made for this. I wasn't made for this existence - for trying to solve the same problems that I've had forever. Really, what more can I do? I just want to...
Stop repeating myself. | | |
| "Two weeks away and it feels like the whole world should've changed but I'm home now and things still look the same. I think I'll leave it til tomorrow to unpack try to forget for one more night that I'm back in my flat on the road where the cars never stop going through the night... To real life where I can't watch the sunset... I don't have time... I don't have time... I've still got sand in my shoes..."
No inspiration. Writer's block. But somehow, I feel like I need to be here. I need to write - to clear my head. These thoughts float around in my mind, a never ending circle of the same stuff. If I could, I would run away back to that place far from here. Suffocating, defined by him and what he did to me. Defined forever by that one relationship.
"I don't wanna be anything other than what I've been tryina be lately."
Detached. Part of me doesn't really acknowledge the fact that I'm home. My body aches, a foul taste in my mouth, and my head is begging to be let down, but I... I guess I want to say something but I don't know how to say it.
| | |
|
