some days i don't feel like writing in my blog, just because i know someone might read this and wonder what happened...where did she go?

i used to be in love with this boy in another state. he meant a lot to me and on the nights i think of him and his absense from my life now, i feel really empty. i know it was love, but i'm sure it's gone now. it's just a black hole left for some other sucker to stab into -- his love like vines, poking the me out and the him all the way and i lose myself all over again. i don't like love when it comes fast and sharp. what happened to the sneak attacks and midnight romps that love is supposed to be about? forget the sex. that's not what i'm after.

and there's a single rose on my desk. and a phone. a beaded necklaces and my tree and a purple piece of paper and a water bottle. and maybe these are all the things that matter to me. this is how i want to be a writer. alone in a room with plants and water and a phone, wait, maybe no phone. i want to be cut off. i wonder if i start feeling for you if i'll lose it. if you'll make me too happy and i'll lose what it's like to be miserable and not be able to write about it anymore. but that's what i thrive off. the miserable in me. i can't help it. if i'm not ever changing i'll become stuck and i'm afraid i'm already stuck in you. and i've already envisioned my life like rob gordon's but without all the break-ups. all the music and the lonliness and the feeling that maybe you are who i need and i'm not quite happy and i'm not quite sad, but i'm really comfortable and yeah, there are happy times but mostly it's just that it's there. you are there. and i like you. and i can't really imagine not liking you. not now. i'm glad you pretend with me over the phone. and we imagine what it will be like and that maybe i trust you too much and i'm sure my heart will be broken again. i like the sound of glass breaking.

and i like the days when i feel raw inside. where i'm too tired to even think about taking a shower. i just want to stay in bed all day -- waking up and closing my eyes over and over in repeat. and then i put on that alternative country record i have somewhere and i think about being drunk and broken love, and that i wish i was that lucky sometimes. they have inspiration!

i remember the nights when i feel really great and those are the days when i feel all nervous. the nights with ian. the days with ian. those are the days when i feel like maybe i can write for a lifetime and that i haven't lied myself into a major, a college. i like to lie. i'm bad at it but that's why i write "fiction" -- it's replacement lying for bad liars. you call it fiction because it's not a whole lie but it's really what you would be doing/saying if you had the courage to do it. i haven't written a "lie" in a long time. this is the closest to one that i've got.

i wish i could be in your arms right now but i don't know if that's even true anymore. i like to hide behind the ambiguity.  
¶ 4:18 PM |