Three Years Ago

Eerily true...minus the high school set-up

Reincarnated

How you said, "Next time, I promise to love you first."
And how you told me, "I will look for you and you cannot hide from me."
Or how you stared into my eyes as if to say, "Not even lifetimes can keep us apart."

I believed it all.

How I waited. And waited some more.
Because here I was, and there you were.
So close and yet worlds apart.

Reposted: The Love Letter That Couldn't Write Itself

Words have never failed me. In fact, my biggest consolation in life is that I can always articulate what I know, how I feel and who I am at any point, any way, any junction of life as it unfolds before me. I have never had a problem with searching for the right words, they find me instead, sometimes none too subtly.

My guess is that my writing muse abandoned me, not when I met you, but because I let you take over her space in my head. I imagine her pain as i let the auteur in me slowly atrophy, to a point beyond recognition. You overwhelmed me with emotions and caused me to exist outside myself, the self that delights in weaving yarns and expressing the soul. You were context and subtext, every theme and reason. I was consumed in all the wrong places, robbed of sanity and speech. And only in the cruelest hand of fate, will retaliation be exacted upon me. I cannot be regretful enough for my muse to forgive me. And she has served me with enough ironic sense to let me write you a letter that chokes upon writing itself...I cannot help but try.

And so, a thousand considerations blur the peripheries of my lucidity. I begin to feel physically ill as I struggle through emotions I couldn't identify. The onerous task of projecting thoughts to paper is one that I never feared before. I wanted to dispense with the cliches, the sentimentality, the sheer banality of it all. But there's a greater need for me to have you realize, to have you experience--even for a moment, the chaos in me. For how could you know that you are the axis of my world...That my need to exist is eclipsed by my need for you. Didn't you know that my happiness hinges upon your understanding? If this letter fails, the dam that holds my pain in will break and my soul will shatter.

Fuzzy Memories

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Me: I get it. Fan of self-flagellation, are you?
You: Get over yourself. I'm here because I see you're looking a bit dead behind the eyes.
Me: Sure, you are. I don't recall ever asking for a rescuer.
You: Suit yourself. I hate rabid fan girls anyway.
Me: Oh, I hope you're not talking about me, Mr. Pornographer.
You: You're calling me, Mr. Pornographer? That's rich.
Me: And true. Don't forget true.
You: Only if you admit that you're in denial.
Me: In denial about what?
You: Your everlasting love for my person.
Me: If by your person, you mean disgusting pig with the sensitivity of a dumb bell...
You: Just admit it.
Me: I'll admit to your stupidity. In fact, I'll vouch for it.
You: Fine. I'll give you this round. But only because I'm convinced you harbor such strong feelings for me.
Me: You are psychotic and you should get your head examined.
You: Wow. You really, REALLY like me.
Me: End of conversation.
You: Next time, there'll be tears.
Me: You wish, idiot.
You: Buh-bye now, fangirl. I'll look forward to our next battle.
Me: You're still an idiot.
You: We'll see.

glitter-graphics.com

Perfect

glitter-graphics.com

People say that the best version of me is when I am with you. And somehow, it makes sense, considering who we are and what we mean to each other.

But I have my way, my need to complicate things. And you, you have your way of hating me for it. You tell me that I am incapable of happiness . . . that wallowing in self-pity helps me validate my existence. You see this as unnecessary. I see it as self-preservation.

It turns out that I am not satisfied with the best version of myself, after all. Because maybe, just maybe, being me and being with you, is not what I am living my life for.

Make Your Move

I am worried. Because the days are passing and I have not heard from you. And I know that I am in the process of missing you, except that you no longer appear in my dreams. And the questions that have no answers no longer keep me awake at night. There are moments when I realize how comfortable I am in both our silence. That my heart no longer stops at the mention of your name, nor does it race when you speak of mine. I even forget who you are and what your face looks like. And maybe that's not such a big tragedy.

Image credit: http://www.blike.net/files/frontimage/th07lovecontract001.jpg

Residual Anger

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Two, three years ago, you asked me to forgive you. And I actually said, "forgiveness is on the horizon." Now that I had time to REALLY think about it, I realized that I wanted to take it all back. I should have said, "Forgiving you would never have improved the quality of my life." I should have been more honest, more forthcoming. I should have insisted on the pound of flesh that was due me.

I fear, there'd be devil to pay...as all this rage starts to un-repress itself.

Freudian

Current Mood:


While it's a great thing that I happen to dream in technicolor, it's also to my detriment that said dreams are anything but normal. It vexes me to no end that I, the paragon of control (in my opinion), has such an unruly subconscious. Case in point, last night's dream, which has uncomfortably showcased Fugs (with girlfriend) mistreatment of yours truly.

Of course, even in my dreams (yes, plural for this is actually the second time something like this happened), I can be ruthlessly vindictive. The first time, I have mentally crippled Fugs--wheelchair and all. The second time, my alter ego has made crude remarks about Fugs' age, which I'm glad for, since I never got the chance to ridicule him in public (the way I originally intended). Needless to say, the mere fact that I still dream about this man really says something about the abysmal state of my mental health. (1) He's still renting space in my head, and (2) I may have inadvertently crossed the thinnest of lines from hate to love and back again. The only conclusion I can gather from this prattle, is that I need to have my head examined real soon...of that I have no doubts whatsoever.

Atypical

skinny,skinnier,skinniest. by ~wednursedead on deviantART
It wasn't exactly a chance meeting, which I am absolutely happy for. If you saw me, I'd probably fake an amnesia or some cognition-impairing disease. Right now, I am the devil for saying this, but I'm glad we did not end up together. If 2004-me knew what 2007-you looks like, well, let's just say, a lot of crying could have been avoided. Oh my God, I am so going to hell for this. But nobody can fault me for being happy. After all, you did ruin me. I can finally put the past to rest. Sweet Jesus, that was the best gift ever. Thank you so, so much.

I Am Not That Girl

"unra" unevbn,

ofa jqrc vc'b jfacq, v rz bfaal. rtcdryyl vc pryyb zn cqrc V qrin cf brl bfaal cf lfd. Cf sn qfenbc, V ufe'c yvxn lfd. Sdc cqrc'b zn snvep gnccl, reu lnb . . . wnryfdb.

V dbnu cf jvbq lfd qrggvenbb. V onyc bfaal sntrdbn V jrb deuna cqn vzganbbvfe cqrc qn tqfbn zn fina lfd. Zl jfayu ryzfbc tadzsynu jqne V ofdeu fdc cqn cadcq. Cqnan'b ef unelvep, V yfbc cqvb srccyn.

Ync zn wdbc tynra zl tfebtvnetn. V xefj cqvb jvyy enina anrtq lfd, sdc gynrbn ync zn brl V'z anryyl bfaal. Vo lfd xenj cqn bcdoo V uvu jvcq qvz, lfd'yy tfeunze zn cf qnyy. Reu zrlsn V'yy unbnain vc.

V cqvex V qrin ofapfccne jqrc vc'b yvxn cf garl. Zl zfary tfzgrbb qrb efc jfaxnu bvetn cqn ovrbtf cqrc jrb vre. Sdc V jvyy cal zl enkc garlna cf anoyntc zl anpanc, reu cf ntqf qfgn . . . cqrc bfznurl V jvyy bnn ofapvinenbb, vo efc oafz lfd, cqne oafz cqn Fen jqf snbcfjb partnb reu gdevbqznec ryvxn.

V'z bfaal V yfinu cqn jafep zre.

Guilt

Today, you'll be compelled to ask me if I'm okay. And I will respond by saying, "I am well. I feel great." Later, you'll wonder if I meant what I said, because you have seen me at the peak of emotional suffering. Of course, we've never talked about it--how you've seen me breaking down while waiting for the bus. And I would have explained myself had you asked. I would have told you some lie you'll feel comfortable with, and you'll go home assuring yourself that I'll make it to the next day.

I tell you now, that's not the best way to clear your soul.

You can believe you're doing the right thing. And the world will agree with you. But that gnawing discomfort, that persistent ache, that niggling sensation of what you feel could be doubt...believe that at that moment, my heart is lodging complaints against the heavens. And no force on this earth, is strong enough to break the chain that links my pain to your guilty conscience.

Belief

And so I seek answers, answers to questions I have a hard time raising--because I already know. You aren't worth the effort with which I hurl all my pain against God. And no matter how I agonize over it, I am sacrificing grace because of you. Against good reason, I am risking everything, because the depths and heights of my loneliness are nothing compared to the emptiness I am without you. It's a battle that I must constantly lose.

Detox

Guess what? You crossed my mind less than the usual 15 times. Today it was just 7 or 8, I lost count somewhere along Germanium and creating crossword puzzles. Maybe someday you'll assume the form of sunshine, as constant as the routine of life. Good thing, I never cared too much for the sun. Give me snow, give me rain, give me autumn and its shower of leaves. Summers are best left in the past, joining obscure memories in their graves.