…that should be a medical term because hells-f*cking-bells every time I have to pack sh*t up, I sink into a pretty black funk and lose touch with common sense. Guess what? I’m moving in just over a week and you betcha, I’m starting to feel Leonard Cohen blue. And when I do, I tend to go off in search of salt and the raw aching core of an open wound. Which is where I’ve been these past few nights, diligently avoiding a growing list of removal admin.
So àpropos nothing, let me hurl you to the centre of hell. Slap!bang! right inside a ring of broken hearts and burning acid. Yeah. Welcome to a world of shattered dreams ::
“ I like Dax. like really really like. and part of me is so scared that the longer things go on between us (you and I, this btc ‘us’), the deeper I feel, the further I fall – how.on.earth.am.I.ever.going.to.just.get.on.with.my.life? you manage somehow, so gracefully. or it appears thus to my jealous monosyllabic heart that simply can’t hold two things at once. and I keep coming back to you. I keep choosing you. and all the while I know it’s the worst case of ‘investing’ ever. which I say tongue firmly in cheek, bare, because at the same time – I know, I know somewhere blood deep in my soul that this is the only truth: you’ve opened me, and this has turned me into some ‘thing’ else all together more than I ever was before. and that has been/is/will all ways be one of the most precious elements of this magical dreaming thing we tumbled into. together.
and I fear, my most magnificent fear, that after july I might be gutted like a mullet. that I may never ever ever be able to pick up those shattered sheer pieces and get on with ‘real’ life. that I will have nothing to offer anyone – my heart will be no good to man. or beast. so. in a way, the cowardly part of me finds it so ‘convenient’, so logical and safe and sensible to allow these 3 weeks to cut us distance, to draw us out of our burning tree and our starry skies, send us fleeing from the island and back ‘home’ (wherever the fcuk that is for us now) where our dinners are still warm and no one really noticed us gone… and Dax doesn’t deserve to get messed around by someone who’s heart has been blown apart. this is me – trying to keep it altogether, trying to hold it (my life) in some semblance of balance.
jee-sus. mary. joseph and anyone else that wants to climb on this holy hand-grenade of a bandwagon. yes, I am a drama queen. but.you.tear.me.to.pieces… not that it’s you. it’s me. merely thinking.about.when.I.have.to.grow.up.and.somehow.’be‘.without you. I don’t know *what* on earth that’s going to look like. and part of this attendant flux is probably that I’m stupidly blind terrified of how much I am going to miss you – for three weeks. at least it has started now and no longer bearing down on us like some brutal thunderhead. I don’t know. I have lost whatever answers I might have clung to eons back.
but. this is worthless conjecture really isn’t it? because we never had promises. just as easily as some variable can change in my life, so can it change in yours. all bets are off. our cards never hit the table – we’ve cheated aces off Fate and managed to produce a flush when we needed it most. we’ve the luck of the gods (or the irish). either way, they’re getting fine entertainment at our expense. and anyway, we’ve tried lasso this wild beast before, break it in, wrestle it to the ground, tame its spirit. it has a will all its own, that transcends the both of ours.
and this is where I finally find some semblance of peace – if it shall, then it will. neither you nor I nor anyone else can stop this wheel turning. the die is cast, the chips are mid-air falling. it’s too late. it was too late long ago. and: we will all be ok. one way or another.
you want me? f*cking well, come and find me… I’ll be waiting. with a gun and a pack of sandwiches… xxx ”
“When this kind of fire starts, it is very hard to put out. The tender boughs of innocence burn first, and the wind rises, and then all goodness is in jeopardy…”