2005 15 February :: 9.29 pm
& sometimes it just sneaks up and devours from the inside out. I've got that song stuck in my head, the one he used to sing at me back when it mattered, "I don't mind spending every day out on your corner in the pouring rain. Look for the girl with the broken smile, ask her if she wants to stay awhile. And she will be loved, and she will be loved . . ."
But with experience comes knowing that he meant it more for her. Always for her. Everything for her.
Can I blame him? No. I feel the same thing for him. I know how it dominates. There's a portion of your heart you can only give away to one person in each lifetime. For me, that's him. For him, it's her. I pray that I'm right in assuming Claire and Dan's are each other . . .
Trilogy, and least of it. I can never bring myself to believe otherwise.
He existed mostly as a figment of my imagination. And I think I as his. I'm so sick of long-distance relationships. So sick of being lonely, of waiting on a chance and a might-be. Of spending less than a month, total, with the love of my life.
C'est la vie. As much as I hate it, I know I just have to move on.
2005 9 February :: 10.06 am
. . . iwillgetoverthis. iwillgetoverthis. . .
shittiest goddamn mardi gras ever.
i'm fucking sick of love. of having it. [then again, i always have been.]
i will spend every minute of every day waiting for you to contact me. until someday i realize you're not. going. to.
on that day i'll begin to heal.
. . . rest later.
2005 7 February :: 10.31 pm
i want the last six months of my life back.
i want to change it all around.
i want to make it right.
[i want to do right by you.]
give me a time machine, god. this is really pissing me off.
[it's what they call, "regret."]
2005 2 February :: 7.04 pm
no. it's not okay.
2005 1 February :: 6.23 pm
. . . Surreal and stupid. Clouds on the sky, seagulls and ice. Wind. The same goddamn rocks, the same goddamn urges. To break [people].
It apparently isn't a problem. He has been up to no good as well. I am relieved. Or, I should be. But yet somehow . . . don't get me wrong, I'm not jealous in the least. Nor bothered by either of us fucking other people.
No, the part that gets me . . . [& put aside your need for metaphors, for imagery, for making so much more intense than it really is.] is that even in the middle of it, all I can think of is Jim.
Dead center of probably the best fuck I'll ever get and I suddenly want to cry from loneliness. What? Someone explain this to me, please. Someone make it all make sense, make it all better, make it all go away. Someone please, for the love of god, plug up this hole in my heart. It hurts.
I finally believe in him, far too late to do anything about it. Maybe, if I'm lucky and clever, I can see him in May. Maybe not.