Just let me vent. This is completely self serving. I'm jacking off my pity. Apologies for the visual.
  1. I feel myself wanting to write out every thought and my wants on here. All of the light and dark things behind my eyes.
  2. So many ideas. I just remember this feeling. Of wanting to feel heard. I think that's why (and of course the song that most reminds me of her comes on now). Anyway I think that's why I did what I did that I can't talk about now. Or I could but I shouldn't. Playing this little guessing game with my paltry viewership is a drag and I feel like an ass.
  3. I'm so ready to vomit everything here. It feels better here than it does on a page. Except that I can really let it out on a page. Hinting is so much like the attention seeking of my peers on Facebook. And even when it's a sincere complaint it just feels trivialized in open air like that.
  4. There's just no intimacy. Sometimes I even begin to doubt my past experiences of it. Thankfully I've kept just enough proof to remind myself that I wasn't crazy. I was, just not in that way.
  5. I still haven't dreamt about her. Or at least I haven't remembered it. I don't even remember the dreams I have had of her. Just the one I made up because I wanted to have had it. And all the dreams she ever had of me. I remember them. We often shared dreams. God. We shared dreams.
  6. I know so much intellectually but the feelings are all taking their sweet time becoming second nature. Things like knowing in my bones what I've always known. That it couldn't have worked out. That she was "Beinaheleiden schaftsegegenstand" if anything. I guess I just miss having a like minded soul to talk to.
    Static
    I didn't even know what I wanted. Now I really don't. Just to feel like she made me feel again. I won't screw it up.
  7. "But like those of us who have experienced the devastating disappointment of failing to dissolve another’s private conflictedness by the sheer force of love, Dr. Sacks discovered that all the gentleness in the world was hapless against the hard edges of Mel’s inner inhibitions. When the erotic and romantic tension between them became too much to
    bear, Mel left, leaving behind the cold ashes of a could-have-been. Its unlived potentiality — like all great unrealized longings — reveals itself as scar tissue of the soul as Dr. Sacks looks back a lifetime later."-Maria popova
  8. I can't delete it because it's true but I can't post it because I'll be so disgusted by my reaching out. I admire strength of spirit and being my own person. This does not feel that way. This is a lesser form of desperation.
  9. Everything I say has a contradiction and an excuse to it. I'd feel like arguing with you regardless of your agreement or disagreement. I'm my own worst enemy so often and my only compatriot. Which sounds so much like drivel I consider deleting it. But I know it's true. So many acquaintances. No one to go beneath the surface.
    Would I want them to? Would I lock myself up more?
  10. I'm trying to have mercy for myself. I forgave her the day after but I still haven't forgiven myself. I'm doing it in little bits. A crumb here, a crumb there.
  11. Trying to find things to look forward to is so difficult (both true and untrue). Everything is paltry in this place. And yet it isn't. I wake up feeling bittersweet. I love nighttime more than day. I hate the light unless it's the soft glow of morning. Which seeks my eye out and is a close friend. Daylight is like a fog.
  12. Nighttime is so open. Everything is closer. The time slows for a few hours and I feel like she's closer somehow. Im starting to wonder if I'd want her to be. I do and I don't. I'm betrayed and a betrayer. It's so two sided it twists me.
    How much more dramatic can I make this read?
  13. The music is never loud enough. I need impassioned sound as much as I need the soft lyrics of a soft hearted musician.
    "The nature of music variously [has] been understood … as nonverbal articulation of weal and woe, as wordless expression of man’s intrinsic dynamism of self-realization, a process understood as man’s journey toward ethical personhood, as the manifestation of man’s will in its aspects, as love."-Josef pieper
  14. One of the few things that gives me satisfaction is reading from the perspectives of 40+ year olds. Really just anyone decades older. It gives perspective. And makes me glad to be having these kinds of problems now. Think of the problems I'll have when I'm 40+ ha.... Fuck.
  15. I look forward to living 4 months from now. It will be winter. A few things will be different (as they always are after 4 months).
  16. 4 months ago the school year was almost over. I was still dating L and hating classes. Somehow I miss that time. Why do I miss the past so much? I miss hanging out with my buddies. Who are all in the marines except one. I'll be hanging out with him soon. Should be a distraction. He's a good guy. Polite and casual. It's relaxing.
    I can pretend to be my age for a few hours. I wish I could be younger. Or older. Why do I hate the present? Not always. It's true and untrue. I've always hated black and white. Everything is so gray.
  17. I am disgusted by her. So angry. And yet I find myself remembering a sweet moment and missing it.
  18. I tear these things apart intellectually. It was all so romantic but I despise romantic notions. So fraught with meaning that goes nowhere fulfilling. Nowhere because we can look at her actions and mine to track the exact way we ended up where we are. It doesn't matter anymore. I'm here and she's here and we aren't anywhere else.
  19. And we can never know if we would have been. And there was so much wrong about her and there's even more wrong about me. And the self pity threatens to melt what's left of my brain. It's stewing in it, the poor thing.
  20. I can be as calculating as I want or as hopelessly romantic as I want. It's like everyone says. It's just a matter of time. I remember when I had a crush on a girl named Cassie before I ever met S. Cassie is a subtle bitch. She likes to put herself in positions of power under the guise of a helping hand. I could always smell this on her.
    But I never realized what it was until later. I just liked her ass and how smooth her skin was and the way her lips looked and her intelligence. She's shallow. And then out of nowhere I meet S and a few months go by and I've forgotten about cassie except on lonely nights.
  21. Point is that it gives me satisfaction to understand how naive I was. That I'm naive now and there's nothing I can do but wait it out. I'm in the middle of learning something. I won't get it until I get it. And I'll hopefully be better for it. I'm trying to be less bitter. More forgiving. More merciful.
  22. "Mercy, grace, forgiveness, and compassion are synonyms, and the approaches we might consider taking when facing a great big mess, especially the great big mess of ourselves — our arrogance, greed, poverty, disease, prejudice. It includes everything out there that just makes us sick and makes us want to turn away, the idea of accepting life as it
    presents itself and doing goodness anyway, the belief that love and caring are marbled even into the worst life has to offer."- Anne lamott
  23. "It can be healthy to hate what life has given you, and to insist on being a big mess for a while. This takes great courage. But then, at some point, the better of two choices is to get back up on your feet and live again."-Anne lamott
  24. She really is like heroin.
  25. I'm profoundly unhappy with my life at the moment. Which is probably a good sign that things are going to be magical in a few months or a year. I have faith in the general balance of things.
    I also believe this has made me a much better person. Even if I happen to be so much more angry than I ever was before. I'm thinking about how my grand mother used to encourage me to smile. I'm thinking about how a girl's voice sounds just saying hello. About what alleviation feels like. All the weight I never knew I was carrying off my back. The differences between infatuation and love. How melodramatic people can be. How dualistic it feels.
  26. ————————————————
  27. "Far from me and like the stars, the sea and all the trappings of poetic myth, Far from me but here all the same without your knowing, Far from me and even more silent because I imagine you endlessly.
  28. Far from me, my lovely mirage and eternal dream, you cannot know. If you only knew. Far from me and even farther yet from being unaware of me and still unaware.
  29. Far from me because you undoubtedly do not love me or, what amounts to the same thing, that I doubt you do. Far from me because you consciously ignore my passionate desires. Far from me because you are cruel. If you only knew.
  30. Far from me, joyful as a flower dancing in the river at the tip of its aquatic stem, sad as seven p.m. in a mushroom bed. Far from me yet silent in my presence and still joyful like a stork-shaped hour falling from on high.
  31. Far from me at the moment when the stills are singing, at the moment when the silent and loud sea curls up on its white pillows. If you only knew.
  32. Far from me, o my ever-present torment, far from me in the magnificent noise of oyster shells crushed by a night owl passing a restaurant at first light. If you only knew.
  33. Far from me, willed, physical mirage. Far from me there's an island that turns aside when ships pass. Far from me a calm herd of cattle takes the wrong path, pulls up stubbornly at the edge of a steep cliff, far from me, cruel woman.
  34. Far from me, a shooting star falls into the poet's nightly bottle. He corks it right away and from then on watches the star enclosed in the glass, the constellations born on its walls, far from me, you are so far from me. If you only knew.
  35. Far from me a house has just been built. A bricklayer in white coveralls at the top of the scaffolding sings a very sad little song and, suddenly, in the tray full of mortar, the future of the house appears:
    lovers' kisses and double suicides nakedness in the bedrooms strange beautiful women and their midnight dreams, voluptuous secrets caught in the act by the parquet floors.
  36. Far from me, If you only knew. If you only knew how I love you and, though you do not love me, how happy I am, how strong and proud I am, with your image in my mind, to leave the universe. How happy I am to die for it.
  37. If you only knew how the world has yielded to me. And you, beautiful unyielding woman, how you too are my prisoner. O you, far-from-me, who I yield to. If you only knew."
  38. -'if you only knew' by Robert Desnos
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