leaving

I had forgotten that feeling.
How could I have?
I had forgotten what it felt like when something someone said made me cry. Perhaps I had gotten too used to dealing with people who liked me, and cared about me, and worried about what a single word could do to someone with an ego as fragile as mine. Perhaps I was too comfortable in the knowledge that people could be forgiven the unkind things they said because they didn't mean to hurt me - when it was only true of people I considered my friends.

All he said was "yawn."
How can utter strangers have the power to make me cry?

being sensible

It's easier than previously imagined.
:)

it will not

if i were ever to wish for my mind to find something to fix itself on single-mindedly, this would not have been my choice.

at that point when i'm mutilating daisies

i miss you when you're gone. i miss you all the time. i wish you were here, though i cannot imagine past the fulfilment of that one wish. i drop references of you into disconnected conversations the way one drops names of famous people one knows, nonchalantly on purpose, like secrets that beg to be told. i think of you every second second, in spurts and shocks and spite (in spite) of all better judgement. i hold long discussions with you in my head where i say all the things i wish i could think of when you were around, when people actually heard me. i wait with busy signals and pointed status messages all for you, only for you, and i forgive you when you never notice. i write you letters pages long in my imagination and then tear them up because they all end up making uncomfortable admissions that i am not sure i believe...or want to.

i've been here before.
will i survive another one?

promise me

oh, my dear.
as far away as that?

and as long ago. birthday.
i am almost a happy person.

do you only pretend, to spare me the pain of looking stupid?

I'm not a cruel person. Really, I'm not. At least, I try very very hard not to be a cruel person. Assertions of my mean nature notwithstanding.

It's just that I would like to have you feel, for a little while, exactly what I feel every time I come here and wait around for...things. I do.

Not long, no. For a mere ten minutes, for example.

Hmmm. Perhaps I am cruel.

How can you not know?

i must ask this -

...do you not care?


at every second second.

past your shutters

I fear this will come out sounding bitter and miserable and self-pitying, but at this moment I do not believe I feel very much more than curious.

Is everyone as ready to be deceived as I am? Do they, too, go over the same old memories over and over until they're warped beyond all recognition and coloured by every dream they want to see fulfilled? Is every moment in the past brought forward to fit in with the idea of the present?
How much of what I feel is real and how much just the ravings of a wishful imagination? Is recognizing the possibility a step in the right direction, even if no move is made to change anything?

Someone said things a lifetime ago that I listened to with half an ear and then immediately forgot about - until I saw them again yesterday. I do not remember all I felt, but I remember enough. Do we miss messages when we're not listening? If they're not important and never repeated, may we not leave them forgotten?
Does what was said four months ago matter at this moment?

For all I ask and pry and plead, I get nothing but blank walls and neat evasions and pleasant conversation. Should I not stop pushing myself forward?
Should I not stop believing?

self-control

7000
1296000
192.76.146.51

i am afraid and ashamed.
more afraid?
more ashamed?
all manner of people.
oh, god, help.

I miss him. He's busy, and I'm being sensible, and the only reason I wrote him a seven-page epic telling him nothing is because I refused to annoy him when he had no time. As long as I'm writing him, I don't miss him that much. I wish I hadn't sent that link now. It smacks of screaming attentions, and I don't want that.
"Undoubtedly, there is meanness in all the arts which ladies sometimes condescend to employ for captivation. Whatever bears affinity to cunning is despicable."
:( mewl.

if you push hard enough, everyone will

There are three hundred and sixty six days when one can remember a moment. Perhaps the only reason people do not celebrate an anniversary every day is that life does not spread itself out that evenly...


What would you have me do? The secrets that others tell us wind around us like so many great grey coils; intangible chains that bind us at once both from speaking and breaking. A secret not yours is a burden you cannot choose to lose yourself.

Are the things we are willing to forgive in others only things we would be willing to forgive in ourselves? Is friendship about trust, or about truth? At what moment does one stop and decide that enough is enough? Where is that line drawn beyond which you do not care enough for another person to let them hurt you more than they hurt themselves? Is it possible to believe that the way a person treats others does not matter as long as you are treated well?
Is affection a substitute for worth?

How much must a person mean to you for you to forgive them the pain they have caused you?
Trust is an ineffable entity, non? Indefinable. You rarely realize how much you trust someone (or, dreadful thought, wish you could trust someone) until you're actually called upon to do so. When the need arises, what then? How do you choose what secrets you can place in the power of another mind? Whom will you trust enough to give the power to hurt you to?
Is trust the hope that the people who can hurt you will always choose to stay their hand? Is trust the belief that the person who has the power to break you will not do it? Is trust the handing over of that power?
And if it is, perhaps love is the knowledge that you will always forgive someone even if they do.

Here is the issue of trust again. Does seeing through someone's bullshit excuse the fact that the bullshit was present at all? Can you forgive someone for doubting your affection; for testing your trust? And even, even if you prove that your affection is true, doesn't the fact that the test was set at all mean that someone else failed it before it was taken?

But then, do I not push people just to see if they'll go? The trick is not to lie. The trick is not to push too hard. I know.
Some people, when pushed -
they will go.

camaraderie

What would you do, love?
Is it a measure of stupidity, putting your trust in other people? Refusing to be pushed away: is that not all I ask of the people I care about?

How far will you let someone go?


Look: the irony of questions you are forced to answer yourself.
Do you care enough to self-destruct?

second anniversary

I am almost cured now.

between anniversaries

why bother?


because someday somebody nice will reply to a letter.
i just wish it could be you.

old ghosts

And it is odd how easily a carefully formulated plan will fall flat on its face when someone does something unexpected.
Forgiveness is very easy when someone apologizes. How is it done when someone doesn't? When someone hurts you badly enough to leave a scar, which is a better idea: to try and forget it, or to try and tell the person what they've done?

a year ago today

1066 FTW !!!

I think I might cry.
:)

but

I know the only reason I think of you so much is because I have nothing better to do with my day.
I still wish you were here.

turn around

Why do you suddenly pretend to care now?
You have never been a pillar of support - what makes you think I will turn to you now, when I most need someone I can actually trust? And you will tell me to my face that my behaviour is not normal, and you will expect me to step up and take control of a life I'm still coming to terms with?
Oh, well done. Perhaps I'll have that therapy, after all.




***
I'm terribly unhappy. I wish you were here. I need to talk to someone. Won't you please come by and be nice to me?

FAT FAT FAT

Here's a high flight: do I really expect someone else to judge anything using the same yardsticks I mark out for myself? Indeed it's stunning to see how often I am the one to blame in all my dealings with people (all except my mother - is that meaningful, doctor?)...
It's strange to see that I have withdrawn into my shell again. Strange perhaps because it does not seem as much an act of hiding now as it did five-six-seven years ago. I begin composing the messages of cheer when I am of good cheer, but then I stop somewhere in the middle of a strangely involved sentence and decide that the story would be better left untold.
(unremembered?)
How much of my life do I want to remember, anyhow? How well do I want to remember it? Do I want to remember all the things he said and all the things she did and all the ways the rabbit was the most adorable guest we have ever had, or am I content to let my mind set aside a single strand of memory for all the little things?

Talking is pointless if there is nobody listening, and I worry that I begin to repeat myself. Repetition, it is boredom. What would I do if I bored myself? Why do I feel as though it is not a result very unlikely? How much external validation can a person crave, truly?

where is my love
horses galloping
bring him to me

I worry about being a lonely broken person with no one to love her.