on conflicts of heart.
Posted in For when you're missing.. on Oct 18, 2007 at 5:42 AM
Current mood: heartbroken.
when I was younger, I remember viewing love as this incredible thing.
this moving mountains, waging wars, building bridges, foundation of everything- thing.
and now I realize it is a disease.
It is a cancer.
It is an open wound.
and your lover is there, salt and whiskey--
like a cowboy--
to irritate and disinfect--
to start over--
to pour in it every time you make the wrong move
and end up with your wound exposed.
I don't want it.
I don't want love.
I would say it has filled me,
but that would be completely incorrect--
love has emptied me.
It's bled me dry.
and a kiss, shrug, and a "give it time", "this means everything", "it will start making sense"--
is not cauterizing this wound.
I can't function anymore.
I need to leave this town-- and you.
but I know you would be every mile, every street sign, every new breath of air..
from here to the end of the earth.
That is what love is.
It's a ghost.
It haunts you until you give everything up because you can't bear being haunted anymore.
Have you ever met someone and been struck with this strange knowledge that you wanted them to see the you that you are when you first wake up in the morning, your eyes only able to open half-way, with the little streaks of eyeliner and mascara you couldn't seem to wash off completely the night before streaked across your face-- your hair a mess and your skin smelling as much like theirs as it does like your own-- tangled up in them and the sheets? Someone you are all the sudden so curious how a morning spent laying in bed, telling stories about all the years your lives before your paths crossed were spent and noticing how your hand felt inside theirs, not caring how you looked or what time it was or what day it was, would feel?
Sometimes it takes a couple weeks, or months, or years of knowing this person for this thought to pop in your head-- but once it is there, how do you get it out?
sometimes I wish I could crawl under your skin and look out at the world from behind your closed eyes. I already know what you must see-- but it is so different from the world I run my fingers through and put my lips to that I have to feel it with your fingertips to make it real to me.
It is strange how, if you hear something repeated so many times, you start doubting the reality of whatever you believed before and start wondering if this is- in fact- the real truth and you have to wonder if you had been misleading yourself all along..
Some things are easy to blur to begin with- like whether the sky at night time is navy or if it is black and everyone thinks black when they look at it, but if you keep telling them it is navy, they will start to wonder if that is true.. the sky is not black or navy in reality... but there is no tag to check that tells you what color the sky is at night time.. Some things are a little harder, sometimes they take effort and pain and heartache-- like the belief in love.. I always had so much faith in it, that it is real, for what reason-- I have no idea-- every love that I have looked to for an example of it working out around me has fallen apart-- maybe I have just always had more hope and faith in myself than I have had faith in love itself...
The point being, that there is no point to this, except that if you listen to other people they can start to make you question things you've never questioned before. I still think love is a choice that you make. I think it CAN be real, but you have to make the decision to make it real in your life.. or you can board up all your doors and windows and shut it out and like a monster in your closet, scream that it doesn't exist, until you are brave enough to get out of bed and open the door to find it gone-- never to return because you scared even the image of it in your imagination away.
I am trying to make two and two equal four but I keep getting twenty-three or sixty-seven and the truth is that I don't quite know what to do with twenty-three or sixty-seven.. if it was four, I could deal with it... I would know what to do with four, but what do I do with all of these other numbers? I should be able to just get over it and move on but what if twenty-three is some giant elephant in the room- looming- that we always see but never acknowledge? I've had enough elephants in my life-- I was hoping that there would never be one in this situation-- but here it is and I cannot seem to find a corner big enough to push it into to hide it from myself..
Crazy.
Posted in For when you're missing.. on Mar 12, 2007 at 1:37 AM
sometimes I watch you sleep and I wonder if I am one of the things that cross your mind as your breath gets deep--
and then I realize that of all the things I let myself think in my life, that is the craziest thing.
sometimes I hold my breath and count as high as I can until my head starts to spin and the memory of you being near me one second earlier starts to rush out of it like the air does from my lungs when I let it go..
sometimes I wonder if you see my face change colors
and know what is going on inside my head--
then I remember that is impossible--
because you could never see yourself the way I do.
321.
Posted in For when you're missing.. on Nov 04, 2006 at 9:19 AM
I am drinking red bull and biting my nails again. I said that would quit both of these addictive habits but neither of them are ever very far from me.. I make bad decisions. My fingers hurt and I am cold. I am supposed to be somewhere but I am running late. I am thinking over the things that have happened in the past week and wondering which things would be worth regretting, if I was someone who let myself regret anything. I am on my second red bull. I wonder how it will feel to be around him again-- if it will be like it has been where I have to keep my hands deep inside my pockets to keep them off of him. I make strange decisions.
+3 -1
Posted in For when you're missing.. on Jun 17, 2006 at 4:04 AM
Upon waking- I unbandaged my fingers and tied on the strings. One to remember each minute my dreams took me through.Tuck in the ends and re-tape. They have been lost to me- loose then gone- slipped through my fingers and on to someone else's floor. I am the worst at this. At remembering to forget things- at remembering what to stay away from, what to split from me. Last night, I covered my bleeding fingertips- to keep them safe from me... to keep me safe- and dreamt of distance.
You were right, dear heartbeat- you are always right... I always forget my nature. I always forget that I close my eyes tight and turn all the lights out and loosen the knots myself. So I can pretend I don't know how it happened- how I always end up back in this place- how I always end up with the same dream- making the same knots- losing the same strings. I cannot remember which page I was on... It is lost-
I have lost it. 3 -1 -1.
Tonight, I cut off my nails. I cut to the skin- to the blood-
to my fingers bleeding on the keys- my feet bleeding on the blanket. I needed them short and then I needed them gone. There was something under them I could not get out- phantom dirt.. too much of this day.. too much to ever wash clean. The sign in front of me is missing words. Here is "two"... "double"- like a warning- interchangable for a reason. This was me.. my fingers covering things I did not want to know. I cannot press down on those things now- I cannot push them away or deep inside to pretend.
How is this always where I find myself?
with blood on the keys I cannot keep myself away from.
This makes three.
Three symbols of the exact same thing in this mirror-image situation.
I have seen this already- read, written, and lived exactly this...
if that isn't an intervention to stop my fingers- my pens- one has never exsisted.
