backspace.

must.
delete.
everything.

midnight.
but i can't seem to gather the courage to delete my own words. even if they are just empty words now.
is it better to leave memories on the page, or tuck them away for safekeeping?

memorize.

I have stopped for just this moment. To remember, because my memory tends to fail me (as you know). I keep words as a record of sorts, a record of memories. I have not cried until now, until now when I have gone back to the beginning and re-read our conversations, my mind against your heart. You were always trying to teach me, to show me how to follow my heart. I can't say for sure that that lesson has run its course...

Can you remember the beginning of us? The words exchanged, the kisses stolen and given so freely, the caresses felt each second. We had discovered one another so quickly, so effortlessly. I never thought it would be me, falling in love with you, in such a short amount of time. I do remember that burning look in your eyes when I told you, you could be anyone. We had stood in the parking lot, as I tried to avoid eye contact with you. Tried to shrug you off, as if you were insignificant, as if you weren't the only person I wanted to be with in that moment, and in that moment, forever. And as we spent countless nights together, I slowly realized how wrong I was...you were more than anyone I had ever known.

I can't deal with the blame. This blame that I have placed on myself. That the deadened place we had ended up, was because of me. Ultimately because I had no control over myself, over the words I spat at you, over the way I purposely made you feel (or not feel). I feel even more lost and unsure of myself than I did when we began. You are still you, but I am not who I used to be, or who I imagined I would be.

I had said that you could be the worst, or the best thing that's happened to me. But those extremes are nonexistent now. I feel neither one nor the other. And it's because I have locked myself inside of myself, vowing to never let you back in. I shielded myself from your harsh words and steel gaze, crawling further away from you. And at the end, I had nothing left that was exposed, I had become caged. I forgot what it is to feel, and I still do not know.

Perhaps one day, we can sit and talk, reminiscing on beginnings and endings. I won't make you repeat yourself.

remember--

he could have been anyone.
he almost was-- anyone. he never made promises. i never wanted them.
i want to write about him, without thinking about him.
possibilities?

spiraling.

I don't really know what it is I need, actually. But I still always find that I'm convincing myself of all of these things. i need some time alone to figure thngs out, this is the only way it's going to happen. without him. without us. he isn't right for me. i'm not right for him. he needs someone better, someone smarter, someone prettier. i have to experience life on my own, no ropes, no commitment.

And I find those strings of words flowing through my brain, out of my mouth, in between clouds of smoke. And she looks at me, nodding in agreement, understanding that this could be truth tumbling out from between my lips. But is it really?

He drove away from me that night and I had felt nothing. I did not feel abandoned, nor alone, nor sad. I had just been. I had small expectations for my emotions this time around. I laid in bed, closed my eyes, and sleep came easily. The dreams had not started yet.

I was selfish in telling him that I hated dreaming about him. I hate it because it leaves him fresh in my mind when I wake up, he's the first realization in my morning haze. Dreams have always held meaning for me, even if indecipherable. I had to tell him to reassure myself that it was...just a dream.

meant to write.

9.07.09
I don't deserve to write to you. When I can't even talk to you when it matters most, when I force you to repeat the same questions over and over in the dark.
I begin to see flashes of images rather than think about how I should respond to you.
I see the manifestation of us as our primal selves, ripping and tearing at one another, layers of skin and hair sloughing off, but never shedding any blood. We strip ourselves bare and build each other back up again.
I feel even more guarded than when we began.
I stopped writing because my written words are meaningless. How can I script promises without following through with them?
I make it hard on purpose.
But, I am trying to ignore the fact that I have traveled a full 360 degrees and I am back to where I began: defiant, ignorant, stubborn, selfish, righteous, naive, undeserving.

I hold myself back in fear of...

harlot.

I didn’t plan for it to be this way. the screaming. the way her arms were flailing and her lips were sputtering out frantic insults and accusations. Her index finger slicing through the air.
The way his eyes dropped down, low to the ground, his eyelashes veiling the guilt circling his pupils.
He was always apologizing. To me, to her, to himself.
But to no one at all really.

I was feeling slightly woozy from the ambien I took earlier. I wanted to lie down on his plush bed and rock myself to sleep. There was no hope of that with all her profanities bouncing off the plaster.

He stood there in the middle of the living room, avoiding eye contact with either of us. She was inching closer and closer to him, her words a muddled combination of anger, guilt, and shame. Her face was red, burning, her eyes two glowing embers, and I thought, Lilith resurrected from dirt and filth come to take revenge on mankind.

Her serpent tongue lashing out, I can’t believe you could do this to me. I invested so much of my time into you. And for what? To find you cheating on me with some slut?

He manages to look up at her, his lips a thin white line.

I didn’t care too much about the slut remark. It just reminded me of the games we played in bed- me and him curled around each other, our hands searching and guiding, caressing and pinching, my nails digging deeper into the flesh on his back until fistfuls of my hair are wrapped around his fingers and he’s whispering wickedness into my ears, you’re my slut, aren’t you? Do you like being my slut?
I almost smiled at the thought of us naked and drenched in sweat and sex before I caught myself, remembering where I was at the moment, remembering who was standing there with her wide eyes and snapping jaw.

To:

do you know, it doesn't change- the way I feel about you, at the end of the day.
because I know all I want, is what you got.
[susie suh; all i want]

piano is soothing.