mine

Sometimes I wish to be twelve again. When fulfillment came from writing his name on your desk or covering the inside of your notebook with loving faithfulness quotes and heart sketches. All the while effusively convinced that this fellow seventh grader was “the one”, your fukking soul mate, but also completely unaware that within the next 24 hours he’ll have been replaced and utterly forgotten. Hope was received and content ness felt from a passing in the hallway or from the smallest of greeting gestures. When you chose whom you “loved” and what became of it- the length as well as the level of futility. When it didn’t matter your reasoning for the interest and it was thoroughly normal and legitimate to be dating your best friend’s ex.
I would almost rather never see his name written anywhere; especially in the back of my notebook surrounded by puking, sloppy promises and my own wishful thinking. I would be choosing someone that is just as miserable without me as I am without him. Someone who wasn’t disgustingly infatuated with my separate soul mate or in fact my life long best friend. The days really are longer when we don’t communicate, they’re increasingly dull and I’m restless.
Thinking about him this way makes my stomach hurt and takes away my appetite returning it only to keep me alive. (jan 2005)



I went to bed so confused and restless.
I should have known better . . .
I went approximately eight hours without thinking about -_- I acted again according to my emotions- my love and my own selfish conflicts- breaking the created vows.
I feel it rising, or rather sinking to the digestive part of my stomach organ- causing nausea; a sickness with no cure; a feeling known to me through, and only through this particular happening. Is it sadness? Some resurrecting guilt or a residing, veiled ache? I don’t know.
-My heart replaced by a hand full of lead; and my breath- reduced, almost rapid. My chest and all of the insiders have collapsed- it sends a stingy, hot fluid circulating in every vein and bloodstream all over my body.
-There is no escape- I know full well I can’t take it back- but what have I done?
-My face painted neither with oil nor a watercolor of any kind- it’s covered with salty paste: concluded.
-Beaten by fatigue I rest (march 2005)




he's in my mind only when i allow it, when i am weakened, or mostly, when i am missing him.