the act of passing across or through;

2011-04-13T22:06:00.000-07:00

i post.

and 2 minutes later you text me.

hilarious you blame everyone but yourself always. hilarious. man the fuck up.

2011-04-13T21:35:00.000-07:00

oh look who has found her way here. i am thinking of you, i always think of you, i can not stop thinking of you even when i am not thinking of you.

but my life is not about you, my life is beautiful. my life is everything i have ever wanted it to be. it is april and in a few days i will be 26. 26 and i was 19 when you draped your arm so casually around my shoulder when we walked those dark streets, the first few minutes declaring we are soul mates. soul mates should be one word not auto corrected to two words.

it would be fucking amazing to know you read this. DO YOU READ THIS? DID YOU EVER?

i am so happy, i am just so happy with where i am, i am exactly where i’ve always wanted to be. there isn’t a diamond ring on my finger, there is no child laughing somewhere, i have not cooked dinner in 4 nights although i have a fridge full of grocery’s because cereal or salami sandwiches sound so much better.

and you? ahahahahah and you. you are not my problem anymore. our matching tattoo is covered up and now it is only MY square. it’s mine just like i am mine. the hours you spend and the way you spend are not my problem, well, they were up until march 2nd when you told.. and at least you told me.

my god, how in love with you i was.

2010-09-25T10:58:00.000-07:00

the view from one of my windows. past the last row of palm tree's is the venice beach and the pacific ocean. i'm home and i feel like i never left, like nothing has changed, and early-mornings in my sea foam green bedroom are still the same. i'm finishing the last of my packing and out of the thousands of songs in my ipod, only the ones that have meant to me most seem to coming out, reminding me of so much, too much, that i sit here longing for los angeles. for a clean slate, for empty walls, for the chance to pick-and-choose who i want to become. i've learned so much the last five years of being back, the last six years of being with you, that it would be impossible to not completely turn my life around. i can't believe my luck- this job i want, the apartment that i swear was built in 1926 with me in mind. the hunger in me is subsiding, you know? seeing you, laying there with you, kissing you, looking at the corner of your bedroom and wondering how many accumulated hours of my life i have spent doing all those things, that's when i asked you about our matching square tattoo's. what i didn't say is this: we will always have that square together, and a little piece of me will always be with you and for you, but beyond that is me, all of me and only me, and i will always leave it empty and blank, for you. i guess there was more, but i was higher than any kite i have ever seen and no matter how much i blinked and breathed and opened up all my senses too you, i still wasn't high enough. not high enough for leaving, for seeing you for who you really are, us for who we've become, and myself for who i am and what it took for me to get here. who knows, who knows, who knows? but i had to put that distance between us, i had to give myself a world with out you and give you and world with out me. a true test, i suppose. but i am not concerned with our relationship, i am concerned with me, because at the end of the day all i will ever have is me, and i have had very little of you.

---

Slow Leak - Ellen Dore Watson

I don’t know how to wish you well.
Your hair is out of control, you are downgraded and strange.
You used to be the man who whopped open his chest,
wandered on a happy shoestring, made a nearly
perfect girl. Times we were electric.
Our talks teased out newness, mixed surprising
pigment. Our battles were not over ground
that mattered, so we walked away from them
with invisible limps, beautiful sticks
with no blood. Thinking ourselves
a perfect fit, we began to forget each other.
The way the roots of a perfect lawn watered too much
get lazy. You thought you should not
have to ask. I thought my private fizzings
and stirrings weightless, but you got sapped.
Your secret began as a scar and turned
to a decision flavored with payback.
The size of my thirst, your silence!
Between us now is the continent we didn’t
finish, and one person’s regret.
Because you have none, this is what I will never
tell you: I took too many days off
from loving you. And: I thought we could both
get larger. And: Neither of us was the right one
to unlock the other’s body. My iron lung
of a father has become soft tissue,
joshing and washing the woman not quite still
my mother—a long tack in a small, hand-made boat.
You and I were so full of beans and promise—
I’m ashamed we failed at forever.

2010-09-20T23:10:00.000-07:00

i did it.

2010-09-19T11:13:00.000-07:00

At Twenty-Eight - Amy Fleury

It seems I get by on more luck than sense,
not the kind brought on by knuckle to wood,
breath on dice, or pennies found in the mud.
I shimmy and slip by on pure fool chance.
At turns charmed and cursed, a girl knows romance
as coffee, red wine, and books; solitude
she counts as daylight virtue and muted
evenings, the inventory of absence.
But this is no sorry spinster story,
just the way days string together a life.
Sometimes I eat soup right out of the pan.
Sometimes I don’t care if I will marry.
I dance in my kitchen on Friday nights,
singing like only a lucky girl can.

2010-09-17T22:39:00.000-07:00

frank o'hara always puts me in a funk. which is cool because i am in a funk, so i sought him out (.. just kidding, richard siken is my funk, not frank). tonight i realized maybe i should be worried about how much wine i consume, or why i need to consume it, or why i've done nothing but complain and hate everything around me for the last 12 days i've been here. here, chapter 5 of my life.

ANIMALS

Have you forgotten what we were like then     
when we were still first rate    
and the day came fat with an apple in its mouth            
it's no use worrying about Time    
but we did have a few tricks up our sleeves     
and turned some sharp corners           
the whole pasture looked like our meal     
we didn't need speedometers     
we could manage cocktails out of ice and water            
I wouldn't want to be faster     
or greener than now if you were with me O you     
were the best of all my days

---

the rest of today, i do not want to talk about, i don't want to remember weeks or months or years from now when i wont understand this underlined meaning. i'll be curious, but there's nothing worth remembering here, olivia.

ps; i loved how today you said "i told you not to go to new york, and you did. i told you not to go to europe, and you did. i told you not to move to los angeles, and you did." -- do you realize, that at my age, including the rest of the states and cities and caverns, i have traveled and lived and seen more than people double my age? i have, i have, i have. i am full of fucking stories at only 25.

2010-09-16T12:05:00.000-07:00

flipping through my bukowski books and through saved files in my computer, these two jumped out at me. balancing each other, life, and everything else out. i made the mistake of texting you last night, and i always know how things will go before they even begin.

i ran this morning, ran and ran, until my legs wanted to give out beneath me and until my lungs what to explode. but i kept on running in that one spot, watching the sweat drip down my chest, feeling the burning in my lungs, legs weakening, my heart pounding so hard it was literally shaking me. so i stopped and walked into a corner and laughed, all of it like a metaphor for the last six years of my life with you. running in one spot, running and running, and never getting anywhere; weak legs, burning lungs, pounding heart. no where.

Lovesong - Ted Huges

He loved her and she loved him.
His kisses sucked out her whole past and future or tried to
He had no other appetite
She bit him she gnawed him she sucked
She wanted him complete inside her
Safe and sure forever and ever
Their little cries fluttered into the curtains

Her eyes wanted nothing to get away
Her looks nailed down his hands his wrists his elbows
He gripped her hard so that life
Should not drag her from that moment
He wanted all future to cease
He wanted to topple with his arms round her
Off that moment’s brink and into nothing
Or everlasting or whatever there was

Her embrace was an immense press
To print him into her bones
His smiles were the garrets of a fairy palace
Where the real world would never come
Her smiles were spider bites
So he would lie still till she felt hungry
His words were occupying armies
Her laughs were an assassin’s attempts
His looks were bullets daggers of revenge
His glances were ghosts in the corner with horrible secrets
His whispers were whips and jackboots
Her kisses were lawyers steadily writing
His caresses were the last hooks of a castaway
Her love-tricks were the grinding of locks
And their deep cries crawled over the floors
Like an animal dragging a great trap
His promises were the surgeon’s gag
Her promises took the top off his skull
She would get a brooch made of it
His vows pulled out all her sinews
He showed her how to make a love-knot
Her vows put his eyes in formalin
At the back of her secret drawer
Their screams stuck in the wall

Their heads fell apart into sleep like the two halves
Of a lopped melon, but love is hard to stop

In their entwined sleep they exchanged arms and legs
In their dreams their brains took each other hostage

In the morning they wore each other’s face

---

Gamblers All - Charles Bukowksi

sometimes you climb out of bed in the morning and you think,
I'm not going to make it, but you laugh inside
remembering all the times you've felt that way, and
you walk to the bathroom, do your toilet, see that face
in the mirror, oh my oh my oh my, but you comb your hair anyway,
get into your street clothes, feed the cats, fetch the
newspaper of horror, place it on the coffee table, kiss your
wife goodbye, and then you are backing the car out into life itself,
like millions of others you enter the arena once more.

you are on the freeway threading through traffic now,
moving both towards something and towards nothing at all as you punch
the radio on and get Mozart, which is something, and you will somehow
get through the slow days and the busy days and the dull
days and the hateful days and the rare days, all both so delightful
and so disappointing because
we are all so alike and so different.

you find the turn-off, drive through the most dangerous
part of town, feel momentarily wonderful as Mozart works
his way into your brain and slides down along your bones and
out through your shoes.

it's been a tough fight worth fighting
as we all drive along
betting on another day.

2010-09-15T19:12:00.000-07:00

surprise, surprise, another wine-drunk night for me. the apartment is empty and it's just me and the cats, i've finished off a whole bottle and listening to foo fighters is probably the worst decision i could be making. well, second, the first could be texting you.

do you read this? i'm assuming no, because you don't bother much when it comes to me. and just like with everything else, i am speaking to myself, the words going off into another realm you will never be able to grasp. i look like some love sick dumbass broad, when i'm not (ok, i am)- crying over a guy who is clearly incapable of being good to her- let alone himself.

you know, whatever. i'm not going to bother tonight. i straightened my hair today, it's to the middle of my boobs! then i took myself shopping: a cute new teal dress, a pair of boots, and some sexy ass black strappy heals. my body is getting thinner and thinner, it's the only part of my life that i can control now (i sound like i have an eating disorder), the lack of food and the increase of my going to the gym (in which i have no idea what i'm actually doing, other than i do it for long enough until my body feels like jello and there is actual sweat dripping down me). the scale has tipped down to 118lbs, 6lbs more and i'll be the size i was when i met you.

weeks later, i got call backs for two interviews. one is tomorrow at 315 and the other is monday at 130. it means so much to hear dad saying "bravo, baby", the way it meant when he wrapped his arm around my shoulder as i was marching out with the rest of the graduates.

you're the only one who has yet to say congratulations. that has yet to say good job. that has yet to say i'm proud of you. goddamn, i hate you. and here i am, still, for you.

writing is nice, but i'm going to get a new little "blog" spot and get myself away from you. slowly, little by little, i love you less and less.

2010-09-13T11:09:00.000-07:00

monday rolled around and i couldn't lie to myself about wanting the job. it's hours and set schedule and traveling and health insurance and bonuses.. i couldn't do it, it's not what i wanted, not even for the 6 months duration of a lease. something in my gut is saying wait it out, there is something better coming along for you, so i did. after calling my parents and hearing their supportive ways, after sitting around crying for a while, i called and thanked them for the opportunity but that i was declining, cried some more. i promised myself i wouldn't settle anymore, so, i'm not. call it stupidity, call it bravery. more poetry because it's all i've been able to stomach for over a year now. i bet you didn't know that, did you? of course you didn't. i am not 19 anymore.

because of all of this, i'm going into the friday's downtown and accepting the transfer, i feel worthless just sitting around filling out applications, i miss making money. god, i am so tired and i haven't done much of anything in the last 8 days except drive and drive and lay at the beach. there is this hunger and void inside of me that i have never been able to fill, but i know exactly what it's for.

what's done is done. i keep writing to you like you still exist.

---

read this months before i knew i was leaving to europe, it came back to me days before while on the swing bench in the garden, holding my breath wondering who i would be after europe, and now it's made a home inside of me, constantly repeating a few of the lines to myself. i always thought people who walked around saying how much europe changed them were full of it.. and then i went and i spent four weeks alone with a notebook full of scribbles. i came back and nothing had changed except for me, i had outgrown everything, including myself. it was around that time you started taking note at how much i changed. you'll never know, because you never asked, not for a picture and not for a story. i've got so much resentment for you and so much love for who i became. so much love for who i'll become because of all this resentment for you. you've made me stand still, so incredibly still, but it's not for you.

Survival Poem # 17 - Marty McConnell

because this is what you do. get up.
blame the liquor for the heaviness. call in late
to work. go to the couch because the bed
is too empty. watch people scream about love
on Jerry Springer. count the ways
it could be worse. it could be last week
when the missing got so big
you wrote him a letter
and sent it. it could be yesterday, no work
to go to, whole day looming.
it could be last month
or the month before, when you still
thought maybe. still carried plans
around with you like talismans.
you could have kissed him last night.
could have gone home with him, given in,
cried after, softly, face to the wall, his heavy arm
around you, hand on your stomach, rubbing.
shower. remember your body. water
hotter than you can stand. sit
on the shower floor. the word
devastated ringing the tub. buildings
collapsed into themselves. ribs
caving toward the spine. recite
the strongest poem you know. a spell
against the lonely that gets you
in crowds and on three hours’ sleep.
wonder where the gods are now.
get up. because death is not
an alternative. because this is what you do.
air like soup, move. door, hallway, room.
pants, socks, shoes. sweater. coat. cold.
wish you were a bird. remember you
are not you, now. you are you
a year from now. how does that
woman walk? she is not sick or sad.
doesn’t even remember today.
has been to Europe. what song
is she humming? now. right now.
that’s it.

2010-09-13T07:36:00.000-07:00

i'm taking that job, for all obvious reasons. i have to start somewhere and it comes as no surprise that i get no support or even a pat on the back from you. more sappy-ass poetry:

Red Meat - Staceyann Chin

I have given up meat
the way I have given up you
without enthusiasm

The flesh still pulls at me
and I am trying to refuse
because no one is ever the better
for acting against the urge of self preservation

My body is screaming
its mantra of enough is enough

We are less likely to kill each other
if we bleed in different zip codes
if we ration our intake of one another

Dying is sometimes faster
than the living
lessons have to be taught
lifetime after lifetime

some animals never learn
and so they return to the table as steak
not rare enough or over done
no one enjoys the stubborn ass of an animal
standing its ground out of habit

the time has come for us to move on
to pull something from this cycle of will contesting fate

So I am letting you go
we both know how the dried crust of our passion
pulled us this way and that
it matters not whether we were in love
or whether we often compromised with ground turkey
the jive is up
our cups are filled with new possibilities
other comic tragedies are yet to be conjured
let us push our injured carcasses toward healing
let us forsake this glut of obligatory feeling
threatening to leave us heavy and poisoned by our choices

---

eventually, eventually, eventually. this will stop, and i will stop, and we.. well, we've already stopped. i can not believe that there is no one else out there that i could love that is a great as you. and you're not even that great, it's just those handsome good looks of yours that i can't get over. ok, or the way we fit. but everything else has grown and evolved with time. and it will diminish with time as well. looking forward to it.

before leaving i had gathered myself up into the biggest sense-of-self i had ever felt, and now, only 8 days in, i've become a total stranger to myself. except i am radiating out this false confidence into the world that everyone seems to be accepting. i go to the beach daily now.. and now matter how shitty i feel, i am still one of the realest bitches around. no fake tan and no fake boobs and not a smear of make-up on me and my screeching laugh can't be heard from 3 miles away. you'd be in heaven here, i was never your type. but oh well, it all makes me love myself that much more.

2010-09-11T20:47:00.000-07:00

it's still hot, i'm still lonely, and i'm still drinking wine. an email to my father:

hi.

i've thought and thought and thought about it...... i'm not going to be taking that job. as nice as the 9 - 5, monday - friday, traveling, and benefits sound.. it's not something i want to do, to even try, even for 6 months. i don't want to settle on the first job that comes along, i want to be excited about going to work and with this job, i don't feel it at all. there is something else better out there for me and i need to keep trying to find it. los angeles is too big of a city for me not to be able to find something else.
what do you think? i am trying to make you and mom proud of me and me at the same time, too, but i still need your advice.

daughter

ps- i found a orthodox church near by, will be going there tomorrow for mamie <3

---

there is all this bravery growing inside of me, there is no other way.

---

One Art - Elizabeth Bishop The art of losing isn't hard to master; so many things seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster. Lose something every day. Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. The art of losing isn't hard to master. Then practice losing farther, losing faster: places, and names, and where it was you meant to travel. None of these will bring disaster. I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last, or next-to-last, of three loved houses went. The art of losing isn't hard to master. I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster, some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent. I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster. --Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident the art of losing's not too hard to master though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster.

2010-09-10T19:06:00.000-07:00

it's hot and i'm lonely on a friday night. momma called and sat on the phone with me while i opened up my bottle of wine, said a little toast to me, and continued talking while i drank my first glass so i wouldn't feel as lonely as i do.

2010-09-09T22:20:00.000-07:00

today i joined the corporate world, that monday - friday, 9-5 i wrote about a year ago, the one i'll have to eventually grow to like. i'm signing a 6 month lease on a small one bedroom apartment in the middle of downtown on monday, the kind of downtown with side walk cafe's and restaurant's where people ride their bikes past one another and wave hello.

2010-09-08T22:18:00.000-07:00

again, i forgot i even had this, when did i start it and why, if i just keep wondering off? cleaning out documents in my computer, i found this saved on my notepad. how fitting to find these both in the same day. i haven't changed, you haven't changed, we haven't change, and the only solid evidence in that is the 533 miles i've put between us.

i ventured out this afternoon to go explore my new surroundings and came home an hour later after being lost in the maze of freeways and too much gas wasted. this isn't easy for me, the constant lump in my throat and always on the verge of tears from all the missing growing inside of me. the unknown of how i'm going to jump-start my career, my dwindling bank account. what am i doing here? i have no appetite (-4lbs) and insomnia has taken over my body, i am so goddamn lonely and this new world is so spread out, i am sitting between the desert and the blue and warm pacific ocean. i don't belong here and i don't belong to anyone and i don't know myself anymore. but i've learned to walk with my head up and my parent's daily phone calls of "you're not coming home, olivia, you're going to stay there and try no matter how much you miss", fuck.

anyway:

I'm moving in 10 days. How is that even real? How is any of this possible? Where am I going to work? How will I figure life out? Or will it figure me out?

There's this picture of me in my head, sitting on a long couch in the middle of my apartment, reading a book with my legs draped over the edge, a cat somewhere near by. The apartment is cold and it smells like Spring in a forest, but it is fall in Los Angeles and it's raining outside.

He kisses me and which ever lip his small lips don't fold over gets jealous, begs me to ask him for a second kiss. How am I going to leave him? This? The comfort? His piano fingers and ocean blue eyes? A warmth rushes through me from the bottom of my belly into my heart and all of me starts to pulsate, creating a hunger for him inside of me, or maybe it's fear.

Don't know how to begin packing my material possessions. What am I supposed to do with my ticket stubs, old letters, magazine clips, yearly planners? All these things that I'll only briefly glanced at years and years apart, to know they're there? Solid proof of my existence- the places I've seen, the air I've shared, the places I've sat, the screens I've watched. And the love letters, the dramatic letters, the apologetic letters, the gossip letters, the happy letters? I can't bring myself to read them, I open them quickly enough to glance at the name and fold them right back up. I miss so much, I want to call them all and ask who they've become and let me remember who I was when I loved them.

The words seem to finally be coming back to me. This whole year I've been stuck and mute and now I've got nothing to show for it. God, please help me find a job.

---

i'm going to text you now and let you read all of this. i don't know how to get across to you anymore. i don't know you and you don't know me and yet i still write you into all my future plans.

2010-05-13T10:07:00.000-07:00

i forgot this even existed. a year later i am still writing the same things, saying the same things, seeing the same things. and so on and so forth.

but you see, the same lead to the end. it lead to a light and it lead to the reason i was walking down this long path. graduation looms over my head, it hangs like a thick cloud slowing down my breathing.

i still love you, i still hate you, but my world isn't about you anymore.

2009-01-07T16:29:00.000-08:00

in my dream world i would sell my car, pay off my debt, close my eyes and throw a dart at the united states map and move. i would finish my degree online and find a 9-5 job that i would grow to like. i would have my own small one bedroom apartment with minimal decor but books upon books and probably a cat. my hair would be waist long and my body thin and i'd know how to cook and to pay my bills on time. nights would be lonely at first, but i wouldn't mind that. i would walk everywhere or maybe ride a bike and i would forget that i have wasted my prime. at least i still look six years younger than my true age, at least i still have that. i would have friends, we'd have dinner even though i would be single and they married with a chilld. i would take myself back to my twentieth year and think of that foggy morning in october and sigh. then one night or one morning or one afternoon, i would fall in love. not instantly and maybe not even after months of eye contact or maybe it only take a few hours. so we'd fall in love and i wouldn't break him nor him me. the story goes as the story goes and hopefully it will all end in happiness. but in a perfect world, i would sell my car tomorrow.

today you called, you did not apologize.

2009-01-06T22:18:00.000-08:00

i forgot i even had this, i don't know what made me even remember. nothing feels right- not with you, not with out you. you selfish fucking boy, selfish stupid boy. i'm letting this hurt on purpose. i'm keeping my phone on on purpose, to watch you call me and text me. i'm waiting for a fucking apology not more excuses or blame. all i've ever done is wait and wait and wait and now i am done waiting and i've used up all my patience.
you want all the things that you can not give.
i ask myself if my phone wasn't broken would i reply to your texts? i want to say no. i want to say that i'd rather be this lonely than be misreable.

walk away or waste away. walk away or waste away. walk away or waste away. walk away or waste away. walk around or waste away. i could be loved and i could love. just not you, just not me. it's never going to work. it's been proven, it's never going to work. walk away or waste away. walk away or waste away walk away or waste away walk away or waste away walk away or waste away walk away or waste away. walk away or waste away. most of that is typed with the left hand, the right only reaches for three letters. i'm not reaching for you anymore.

you idiot. you fucking idiot.

never mind, i turned off my phone. i'd rather sit around and wonder if you've bothered to call instead of sitting around knowing you haven't.

2008-11-09T17:36:00.000-08:00

four years and two days of starring at you. and to think, it was your blue eyes i kept searching for to get me out of the haze that you put me through. i held onto the chair in your living room, feeling the cool wood underneath my clamy hands, whispering my own name as the black swallowed me whole. i searched for myself while i searched for you, i needed you just as much as i needed myself. i lost three days of my life, when i could have very well lost my whole life. to think, you sat there pleading and bartering with every existing god for my survival and only a week later you were back to your old routine. i have never, will never, stop wondering what you told the god's you would change or give up if i survived. did you ever live up to those promises? probably not. the gods kept up their end of the deal and you didn't, you will be punished.

2008-11-09T17:20:00.000-08:00

i always said if i were to ever write a book it would start with "i wasn't always like this you know, bed ridden to my commitments". i've had it in my head for years now, i'll probably never do anything with it, i am bed ridden.

lately, more than ever, i've been looking around me to realize that i have completely walked away from the path i should have been on and the person i should have been by now. instead, i am this. this was not expected. i feel empty, i'd like to know my purpose in life and i'd like to know what my talent is and i'd like to know who i would havebeen.

friday happened and then i spent all of saturday forgetting that i am not stuck. i kept having to remind myself that i can change all of this. when i fell back in? i almost laughed. almost.

the phone was silent all day and i got so sick of checking it even though i know there would be nothing from you that i turned it off.

honestly, i am just rolling with the days now waiting for the 8 to turn into a 9. i wonder where i'll be a year from now. just like i wondered last year.

i need to get a better grip on my life. i need to figure out how to not spread myself so thin. i need to figure out a balance. i need to figure out how to do my goddamn work on time. i need to figure out how to let go. and i need to figure out everything after that.

this is all so negative.

2008-10-29T06:46:00.000-07:00

i remember you had to pee and we were early anyway. we pulled over to a baseball field and eventually we ended up watching a spider eat a fly, you held me close. somewhere on our way back to the car i think we saw a leaf hanging off another spider web's silk spinning fast and alone, just spinning. i think you may of still been holding me as we watched the leaf spin into oblivion. it was fall, it felt like fall, it smelled like fall, today is always the distinct day for me that fall has come. that change has set in and that i'd have to accept it.

2008-10-28T19:33:00.000-07:00

every sentence i want to write starts with the word i or i've. it makes me feel guilty and selfish even though this is about me and i can do whatever i want and talk about myself and my life how much i want because, well, it's mine.

the idea of leaving has been rolling around in my head since i agreed to stay. and i realized i've been going about it all wrong: leaving means leaving and it means staying gone. it means packing up everything and it means cleaning out the darkest corners and it means telling every single part of myself that i am leaving and it means telling every single part of myself to stay the fuck away.
much easier said than done, so i've always stayed, despite it all.

for a while i thought this was a transitioning stage but now i realized the correct term is stand still. i am at a fucking stand still in life. auto piolit. automatic. robotic. routine. common. normal. the same. still. you get my drift? shit is the same every single day but every single day i realize more that every single day was the same as yesterday. the rare occasions i don't have my watch on i get nervous about not knowing what time it is. as if i knowing what time it is would make me move faster or slow down. it doesn't. i just keep drifiting and floating hoping to god something takes me by my roots and plants me somewhere else because at this point it doesn't seem like i can move on my own. run on depressing sentence.

uncommon: my need to pray or my need to go sit in side a church. i've turned to religion? all those stories i've heard about letting god in and letting god take over your life and having faith that god will show you the way and give you strength.. hello, god? i need you. i'm begging for strength and the light and my path and a passion. i'm begginging for anything to make me feel solid. god? are you listening? i'll give myself to you if you just show me what the point of all of this is for?

to say i've steered off track is an understatment. i hate that this is all so depressing but what the fuck, sorry, oh well.

a huge part of me is hoping you'll find this. and that you'll read this and that you'll finally understand what has happened. because you don't. and you wont until it's too late. and i keep saying you're going to be too late and you do not listen becasue i think you think i will do this with you forever. but mornings with you aren't worth it anymore.

everything about my life has become about you, you have made your way into pieces of me that i didn't even know existed. that's where the problem lies. i do not know who i am anymore with out you. or. i do not know who i've become since you. that sounds better, i do not know myself anymore. because that's the truth. you came in and there i went.

so the point of leaving, now, i think, is to leave myself. leaving you would mean leaving myself and leaving who i've become because of you. you are such a part of me that i go through with drawls when i'm away from you. i realized this afternoon while i was sitting inside my car that i never thought it would be possible to be addicted to a human being until i met you.

tomorrow, four years ago, i payed attention to you for the first time. tomorrow, three years ago, you killed me. and every year since i've realized how alone i really am and how alone i've always been.

my stomach hurts.